


Expectation of the Night

by Vera_dAuriac



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Ben and Sarah happened but I don't show it, Episode Related, Gags, Guilt, Historical Inaccuracy, I didn't intend to write a tent kink, Jealousy, M/M, Open Marriage, Pining, but if you have a tent kink you'll probably like this fic, dream threesome, fight and make up, past Benjamin Tallmadge/Nathan Hale - Freeform, there's only one bed, various sexual acts it would take too long to list
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 15:32:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 43,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14718785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_dAuriac/pseuds/Vera_dAuriac
Summary: “Lie back,” Washington said with a look instead of words.Voicelessly, Ben answered, “Take any part of me you desire, for I am yours.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, first of all, thank you so much to the amazing cheerleaders in my life, particularly tallmadgerose, enchantedhunter, and nevawareharp at tumblr who all welcomed me with open arms to the Turn fandom.
> 
> Second, some notes about this fic. It is entirely interwoven with the show, beginning with Season 1 Episode 5 though Season 3 Episode 6. I’ve attempted to include enough of the action of the show so that the story reads smoothly, but I also did not want to repeat in some terribly dry manner something readers of the fic will likely be familiar with. To that end, there really isn’t much of a point in reading this if you have not seen the episodes covered. I will put in the notes of each chapter where I am in the timeline of the show. Chapter 1 covers Season 1 Episodes 5 and 6
> 
> Third, I am no historian. I surely have made a mess of several things. The Historical Inaccuracy tag is for real. Oh, and speaking of tags, when I post a long fic like this, I always remember more tags as I post chapters, so look for those to change. And if you’re wondering, the entire fic is written, but I’m still revising. Assuming all goes well, I’ll do at least a chapter a week.
> 
> Fourth, this is a Benwash fic. The only characters who are truly developed and matter are Ben and Washington. If you are reading this fic for any of the other characters, you will be disappointed.
> 
> Fifth, I don’t own these folks, they belong to history.

_They lose the day in expectation of the night, and the night in fear of the dawn._ ~Seneca “On the Shortness of Life”

 

**By Vera d'Auriac**

 

Nathan had told George about Benjamin. In his stories, Nathan had described his friend from Yale as brilliant and funny, and while he had also emphasized his handsomeness, George had never fully believed him. Nathan had clearly been in love with his friend, as young men sometimes are, and George had taken the mentions of Benjamin’s dark blue eyes and expressive mouth with a healthy dose of skepticism. But now George stood before this young man from Setauket, and he could not believe how short of the mark all of Nathan's reports had been.

As he stared at this stunning youth, George sympathized with Nathan and his desire for understatement. He could recall the first men he had loved, and how he had fought to rein himself in like a horse only half broken when talking about them. That particular passion was a tendency most people could overlook in schoolboys if they were discreet and eventually grew out of it and married. While George had managed discretion, he had failed to grow out of it. For many years he assumed because of this passion he would also never marry. But then he had met Martha, and she did not require he change his nature when she changed her name to his.

But Benjamin—no, Captain Tallmadge—was no longer a boy. And while George knew of no wife, surely this vision standing before him had given up boyish dalliances, assuming he had ever indulged them with Nathan or anyone else.

Captain Tallmadge explained the intelligence he and General Scott had gathered, but shied away from answering the question about the identity of Abraham Woodhull. George overlooked this and allowed the report to continue, having learned long ago that giving men freedom to tell their own stories in their own manner not only presented the listener with the story, but something more personal about the man who told it. George could sense that Captain Tallmadge and General Scott were at odds about nearly everything in the report, and the captain, although more forthright than many an officer, especially one reporting in the presence of his general, held something back. But George did not get the feeling he practiced this reserve because he was speaking to the commander of the Army. In fact, George was quite sure he would be entirely frank without Scott in the room. George would have to arrange precisely this. Strictly so that the captain might unburden himself, of course. Not because George already ached to be alone in a room with him.

George nodded. “Thank you, Captain Tallmadge. You are dismissed. General Scott, please stay a moment.”          

Captain Tallmadge bowed and George forced himself only to peek at him from the corner of his eye as he exited. It would never do, after all, for the commander to leer at a young officer as he left the room. When the door clicked closed behind the captain, George sighed. Best to listen to General Scott’s intelligence report now, although he suspected he would be too weary to suffer through anything else tonight. He could find Captain Tallmadge in the morning before breakfast—he was a young, energetic man, and no doubt an early riser.

***

If the sun had begun her ascent, the fog hid the fact quite completely. Still, George made it a point to know his way through every camp, no matter how new or temporary. With just the lights of the cook fires to guide him, he found his way to the scout tent occupied by General Scott’s men.

When he arrived, no one lingered outside and the flaps were well secured against the chill air. He paused and listened for indications of someone awake within. No sound came to his ears, however. He cleared his throat.

“Captain Tallmadge? May I enter?”

“Your Excellency?” The voice pitched higher than it had the previous night and carried a pinched quality. George assumed the question was not truly a question, but was, in fact, an invitation to enter.

Captain Tallmadge was alone amidst a sea of empty cots. From his discussion with Scott the night before, he had assumed the rest of the general’s scouts would be out looking for the enemy, but likely not finding anything useful. Only Tallmadge remained, pulling on his second sock, his shirt still open at the throat, waistcoat unbuttoned, no cravat, only his pants properly in place. He dropped the sock and stood at attention, one bare foot on the freezing ground.

“Please, captain, finish dressing. It is too cold to stand on ceremony, or the earth unshod.”

Captain Tallmadge’s cheeks reddened a bit, but George could not tell if it was embarrassment, cold, or a trick of the lamp flickering on his bedside. “I apologize, Your Excellency. I slept later than I intended.” He immediately sat on the edge of the bed and resumed dressing with additional haste.

“Not at all. I am the one calling early, but I wished to speak with you before the duties of the day demand our attention.” He paused to set his jaw a bit tighter. “I fear it must begin with the execution of a thief. And while I admit the necessity, I would prefer to accomplish something prior to condemning a man to death.”

“Of course, sir,” Captain Tallmadge said, but George suspected he understood not at all.

“Last night when you and General Scott were reporting, I sensed that you had more to say. I guessed that you would prefer not to say it, however, in the presence of General Scott. While I do not encourage flouting the chain of command, you strike me as a man who would not hold back from unburdening himself without cause. And,” George paused, annoyed at the memory of his discussion with Scott the night before, “I suspect what you need to tell me is a matter of life and death, and I do not take such matters lightly.”

At this point, Captain Tallmadge had put himself together, save his cravat and jacket. In the middle of tying his cravat, his fingers tensed before ripping it from his throat and pivoting to face George. “It does, sir. As you say, sometimes a man’s execution is necessary, but sometimes the greater virtue is to show mercy. But General Scott, forgive my bluntness, is too tired to rules and tradition to see what is right sometimes.”

Once more, George allowed Captain Tallmadge to speak unimpeded. What he heard was an impassioned defense of decency in the face of cruelty. Many softhearted young men often made these sorts of speeches, but Captain Tallmadge’s resonated with logic and intelligence so many heated (and misguided) pleas for mercy lacked. But George knew this young man’s background, and how he must have been affected by the hanging of Nathan, to whom he had been so close. But he also knew this was the lone survivor of an ambush set by the most wily man George had ever met. (He still tortured himself over whether or not sending Rogers away had been the right decision.) What Captain Tallmadge’s version of events had in its favor was his ability to think clearly even when his emotions ran high. As opposed to Scott, who might think clearly, but had no emotions.

“I thank you for this account,” George said when the captain finished. He longed to say more, but he required a quiet moment to sort his own thoughts before he spoke words he could not retract. Yet, as he looked at Tallmadge, his countenance transitioning from inflamed to second guessing the prudence of those flames, George added, “I will speak with General Scott in my own time about these matters, but rest assured you will receive no punishment, reprimand, and certainly no court-martial, for your conduct on this mission.”

The relief on Tallmadge’s face was not only gratifying to see as a commander, but lovely as a man. Tallmadge’s aspect should always be this soft, inviting the brush of fingertips, and not lined and hard with cares. George ventured a small smile of his own. “So, finish dressing. We have some unfortunate business to see to this morning before you and I and General Scott have a meeting to discuss the intelligence of this Army. Please, bring your ideas with you to the meeting. And I expect you to speak freely. I made an exception in this instance, but this special license will not be granted a second time. From this moment forward, when I ask for your report, I will receive a full account, no matter who is in the room. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

***

The execution of the thief went smoothly, although George was relieved to have it behind him. Far better a single man die than discipline and the virtue of their cause be lost. Now he needed to meet with General Scott and….Major Tallmadge? Should he promote him? The question of his dedication, goodness, and intelligence had already been answered, much to George’s satisfaction. He would ask Sackett’s opinion once he met Tallmadge and Scott. George had a strong feeling his informal master of intelligence would have a great deal to say about the state of formal intelligence work and the bright captain. And a second voice in the reorganization he was already sketching in his mind would not go amiss for countless reasons. George, however, refused to believe he desired a second opinion because he questioned his ability to fairly judge Tallmadge’s talents. He might be a bit smitten with the young man, but George would never permit stirrings of a physical nature to cloud his decision making.

And yet, this shapely man had disturbed his sleep the night before. When George closed his eyes, impossibly blue ones stared back at him. When he rolled onto his side, he imagined the pale, smooth hips he felt certain lingered under the captain’s uniform. When he sighed, he wondered what it would feel like to have the breath on his lips be Benjamin’s. And then he would shake himself, and call the man by rank and family name as he should, even in his mind. How strange that he longed to call him “Benjamin,” almost as overwhelmingly as he wished to touch him.

“What would his lips feel like under the pad of my thumb?” he wondered, as he walked into his current headquarters to begin the meeting with Scott, Sackett, and Tallmadge. It was a question for another day. For today, he needed to determine if the most beautiful man he had met in years would become his new head of intelligence.

***

George could not have remained in the room a moment longer with the way Benjamin looked at him. It was Benjamin now—George could think of him in no other way—and the intensity of his gaze made George want to bend him over the desk that very minute. So all George managed was the introduction of Sackett to the officers and the directive for them to present him with a strategy later. It was likely for the best. Time alone would provide Sackett the opportunity to evaluate Benjamin, as well as explain his own unorthodox methods. For now, George would go about his other business, of which he had a great deal.

If he could only dismiss from his mind—and his groin—the vision of Benjamin’s eyes upon him. His modesty balked at the notion of being some kind of idol as opposed to a mortal man, but enough soldiers looked at him with awe that he had been forced to accustom himself to it. Somehow, though, somehow when Benjamin’s moist lips parted slightly and his eyes went wide with the adoration of a faithful worshiper, George longed for him to fall on his knees and put those lips to better use.

What work could he possible accomplish in such a state? He hadn’t experienced distraction like this since he was younger than Benjamin. Perhaps a fistful of snow down his pants would do the trick? He snorted derisively at his own idiocy. However, he did need to inspect the new stable. A brisk walk would certainly put his agitated mind to rights. And if not, he would be outside in the snow.

***

Life made a great habit of humbling prideful men. When George returned to Scott, Sackett, and Benjamin, he had not expected Benjamin to side with the old-fashioned and unuseful tactics of Scott. What he had found even more shocking—and decidedly more painful—was the transition from that magical, worshipful gaze, to one of deepest disappointment. Yet, when Benjamin spoke his mind, not even withholding his belief in George’s shortcomings, George could only find Benjamin more beautiful than ever. However, he could not find himself more lacking.

George had held back the answer to Benjamin’s question “How do you know the name Abraham Woodhull?” for several reasons. One, he never believed in sharing more secrets than necessary with anyone. Two, he had yet to decide how close he intended to allow Benjamin. And three, his third reason was entirely personal. To answer the question, he would have to speak of Nathan Hale to Benjamin. But how could he say, “I knew your lover, and he spoke rapturously about you to me”? He could not allow Benjamin to suspect what he knew, and the simple fact was that George did not trust himself to discuss Nathan with Benjamin.

But he could not endure the way Benjamin looked at him, the shine in his lovely eyes replaced with sadness when he voiced his entirely correct objections. So he had taken Benjamin outside where he hoped the snow and cold would aid in clarity of mind and moonlight would be more forgiving than candle should his countenance betray him. George thought he had managed admirably, and by the time he had finished telling Benjamin the truth, that starry-eyed smitten look had returned to Benjamin’s face.

So now that Benjamin had forgiven him, and George could clearly see that Benjamin was the man to lead his intelligence, he knew what he must do. In the morning, General Scott would be reassigned and Captain Tallmadge would become Major Tallmadge. And Benjamin would stay here in Morristown with him. Yes, Benjamin would be here with him. How George would manage his already rampant feelings at close quarters, he did not know. He would trust to Providence to provide enlightenment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Covers Season 1 Episodes 7-9

Ben had a desk—a _desk_!—and it was all his own. He’d been promoted Major by General Washington. General Scott had been told off in the most polite, but utterly satisfying way. And now Ben was doing amazing work. Behind his very own _desk_.

And it was all because General Washington, the commander of the Continental Army, His Excellency, had taken notice of him. Ben wondered how he had ever managed to make a positive impression on Washington when all he ever did in the great man’s presence was gawp. Half the time he could barely look at Washington, and the other half of the time he was stumbling over his words like a maniac. But somehow Washington had seen something in him, and Ben refused to let him down. Which should probably begin with him concentrating on his work instead of playing over and over in his mind his good fortune.  

Not only did he have a desk, but by the greatest miracle, his brother was alive! Of course, without confirmation of his death, Ben had always held onto a fragment of hope for Samuel. All the same, the logical part of his brain had given him up for dead. The fact Caleb was on his way to bring Samuel back to him was still a joy too great for Ben to entirely comprehend.

And Washington liked him. It still seemed like a dream. But Ben had been there, seen those tiny smiles of approval. Heaven help him, but the memory of that slight upturn of the corner of the General’s lips literally kept him warm at night. The recollection made his body flush and his heart beat faster. Ben realized how ridiculous his feelings were, but he assured himself every man in the Continental Army felt the same if His Excellency graced them with such approbation.

Well, perhaps not exactly the same. But having met Washington, he no longer felt even the slightest hint of jealousy when he remembered the last night he spent with Nathan. They had been so frantic for one another that they just stripped and rubbed against one another until they both spent, and then lay naked and entwined as Nathan told him about Washington. “His presence is inexplicable. It must be what the Romans saw in Augustus. Except Washington would never be a Caesar.”

“A true Cincinnatus, then?” Ben had chuckled.

But Nathan had been as earnest and impassioned as Ben had ever seen him. “Yes, he is. But he is also handsome, tall, and strong. Oh Ben, you should see his thighs—a true horseman if there ever was one. And he has these imposing hands.  And this is all before he speaks. Ben, his voice is the richest fur made sound.”

God help him, Nathan had been entirely correct. Washington was like no man he had ever met in presence, body, and voice. But, dammit, he needed to focus. He had stayed in camp to do work. _So do work, you ridiculous boy. You aren’t helping yourself, Samuel, the Army, or General Washington mooning over nonsense. Nonsense like the sight of His Excellency’s hands, as strong and sure as Nathan had said, resting on the desk when he first arrived._

Somehow, for a good quarter of an hour, Ben managed to focus on homework Mr. Sackett had given him. It was actually quite fascinating, the various theories of codes based on existing texts versus an original codebook. He could happily read it all day, but he also needed to get back to compiling the scouting reports. He closed the folio with the papers from Sackett, and sliced through the seal of the next message at the top of his pile. Before he set his knife down, his door opened.

And such a vision stood before him, he had to fight not to gape. General Washington, crisp uniform, perfect hair, flawless carriage, stood framed in the entry. Ben’s mouth went suddenly dry, and he forced his lips shut and cleared his throat while getting to his feet.

“Your Excellency,” he said with a bow. “How may I help you?”

“I read your update on the prisoner exchange,” he said with a nod to the soldier who had opened the door for him as a signal that it might now be closed. “Your brother, Samuel,” he continued when they were alone. General Washington then graced him with the broadest smile of their acquaintance. “I am most pleased for you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ben said, not even attempting to control his beaming grin. “Lieutenant Brewster has made up part of the party and intends to bring him directly to camp.” In his elation, he realized that if he had hoped to avoid the appearance of special treatment by not going to the exchange, this statement did not sound significantly better. “Not merely because he is my brother, though. He’s a captain and one of the smartest men I know, and I’m hopeful he will be able to relay many useful facts relating to his imprisonment.”

Washington’s lips took on a bit of a quirk as though he wanted to avoid a chuckle. ”Naturally major, I would expect nothing less from you. How does the rest of your work go?”

Ben reported as concisely as he could, knowing Washington valued order and efficiency. Mostly, Washington remained quiet while Ben spoke, occasionally nodding, and only twice asking brief, informational questions. And yet, in his still silence, Ben sensed the rapid working of mind and intense interest in the speaker. Not that Ben believed the General was interested in him, per se. _He’s always attentive. I’ve no doubt everyone who speaks to him feels like the only person in the world when he is the audience. I mustn’t allow my imagination to run away and believe that I mean any more to him than any of his other officers._

“Thank you Major Tallmadge,” Washington said when Ben ran out of things to report. He felt like he should have more, and must be letting the General down, but Washington appeared pleased. And if Washington was pleased, what else could Ben possibly ask for? “I will await further reports.” He nodded before he turned to leave, and Ben barely made it until his back was turned before he let out a sigh.

***

Not long after Washington left, Ben looked at the clock. He had been working significantly longer than he had realized. The prisoners should be back by now if everything had gone smoothly, which meant it had not. He paced around his office for a while, wandered out into the hall, meandered back in again. Caleb might not have been joking about taking Samuel for a drink and possibly more, but even so, the others surely had not joined them on their debauch. No, something was wrong, and as the new head of intelligence for the Continental Army, it was his duty to find out what. He grabbed his helmet and rode out of camp with haste.

 

It did not take him long to find the returning prisoners, much closer to camp than he had hoped. But neither Samuel nor Caleb traveled with them. In fact, no one now on their way from the exchange to camp had seen Samuel—it had all just been a trick. A trick of Rogers’s to lure him into the open. Once Ben found out from one of the guards where to find Caleb, he took off for Elizabethtown, hoping that even if his brother really was dead, he would find Caleb unharmed.

What he found was Caleb and Selah Strong trying to escape from that madman, Rogers. Samuel was, in fact, dead. Ben had already mentally buried him, only to resurrect him with this prisoner exchange. Now, it seemed as though he would have to commit his brother’s eternal soul to God’s care once more, and this time for absolute certain.

But first, he must save Caleb and Selah. It mattered not to Ben if he died—he would be with his brother then, wouldn’t he—but he would not allow anyone else to die because of this vendetta between him and Rogers. This had gone on long enough, and tonight, in these woods, one of them would be headed for his final reward.

Or so Ben had wished until Major Andre’s man showed up and put an end to it all. As much as Ben was absolutely certain Rogers felt the same as he did, neither of them could fight the force bent on stopping them from killing each other, so they stood down, as much like gentlemen as either of them could manage at the moment. Ben, in truth, found a certain satisfaction in looking that scoundrel in the eye and swearing that Selah was his brother, when they both knew it was a lie. Alas, their revenge would have to wait for another day, and Ben would have to take his exhausted, grieving, angry body back to camp.

***

Through some miracle, Ben managed to keep his weary self from falling out of the saddle as he led Caleb and Selah into camp. All he wanted was to sleep and forget his sorrow and rage, but he knew he had a great deal to report, a fact he was immediately reminded of the moment he dismounted. There to greet him at the stable was Washington’s body servant, Billy Lee. All Ben could think was that he wished to wash, change, and eat, but Billy informed him that, “General Washington wants to see you now.”

“Surely His Excellency does not wish to see me in such a state,” Ben said when Billy glared at him impatiently. “You know how he feels about his officers being properly turned out.”

“And you know how he is about punctuality. He knows you’re back in camp, and he told me he wanted to see you in five minutes. And that was three minutes ago.”

Ben rubbed a calloused hand over his dirty and unshaven face. “Of course. Take me to the General.”

Weary legs carried Ben from the stable to the cramped home serving as General Washington’s Morristown headquarters. But more than just his legs ached. His soul and mind yearned for rest. His mind had been so overwhelmed with the problem of survival, he hadn’t found a moment’s mental rest since he rode out of camp. And his soul... sometime, he would have to grieve his brother. Tell their father his son was dead. _God help me, how am I going to tell father?_

Ben walked in a blur, and he was grateful to have Billy to follow. If he did not sit down soon, he would fall down. He only needed to make it through his report to Washington. He could manage that.

“Go right in,” Billy said, nodding at a closed door. “He’s expecting you.”

Ben intended to nod his head in understanding, but it may have just been an awkward jerk. He hoped Billy understood. Anyway, he had better go in.

General Washington sat in an armchair in front of a barely smoldering fire, a small table holding a glass of water between him and another chair. A portfolio perched open on one of his knees. At the sound of the door, he looked up, and upon seeing Ben, closed the portfolio and rose.

“I am eager to hear of your journey, Major Tallmadge. May I get you anything? By which I mean a glass of water. Life in camp grows more austere by the day.”

To tell the truth, Ben had the most overpowering urge for a steaming cup of tea, but for countless reasons, that was an unacceptable answer to Washington’s question. “Water would be very welcome, sir, but honestly,” and he had to pause for a moment to master a tremble wracking his body. “Honestly, a seat would be more preferable than anything. I’m forced to admit I am quite exhausted.”

With elegance Ben could never hope to aspire to, Washington crossed the room in a few fluid strides and rested a hand on Ben’s shoulder. Ben shuddered, and he knew he could not entirely blame weariness. _Have you ever seen him touch someone? He’s famously not demonstrative. I must look even nearer a state of utter collapse than I feel._

“Of course, you are tired, major. My apologies for not considering your physical state. Come sit and tell me everything while I get you some water.”

Like a child, Ben permitted General Washington to steer him toward the other chair by the fireplace. Ben settled in, and at this proximity, he could feel a bit of the heat radiating from the embers. He longed to fall asleep, warm, with Washington watching over him.

“Begin with the prisoner exchange, and what went wrong,” Washington said from his position at the sideboard pouring water.

“The exchange was real but for one particular—my brother wasn’t there. It was a ruse by Robert Rogers,” he said the name with all the venom he could put into words, “in hopes of luring me there.”

“That man will be a thorn in the side of every person he comes near for the rest of his life,” Washington pronounced with disdain, handing Ben his water. “And where is he now?”

Ben sipped the water, while he waved vaguely with his other hand. “Off. But I think annoying his British masters a great deal.”

Washington took a seat and posed his next question: “And your brother?”

A lump lodged in Ben’s throat. He could not speak with it there, but he did not think he could remove it with anything but a sob. He took another drink of water, then set the glass down on the table, but left his hand clenched tightly around it to keep from trembling. “Dead,” he whispered. “Sir.”

Washington reached over to pat his hand, an awkward gesture with Ben still clasping the glass. But even so, that kind gesture unleashed what been had bottled on the journey back, because it would be inconvenient to feel. The tears formed rapidly in his eyes, and before he could protest against his body, those tears overflowed and raced down his cheeks. With his free hand, Ben swiped at his face, wondering what he must look like to Washington. “I’m sorry, sir. This is most unlike me. I will be myself again in a moment.” He barely stifled a sob, no idea how he would be able to compose himself anytime soon.

But Washington just continued to caress his hand. “When my brother Lawrence died, I don’t think I stopped crying for five minutes altogether for three days consecutively. You’ve nothing for which you need to apologize. To have a reunion with your beloved brother dangled before you, only to have it so cruelly ripped away must be doubly painful.”

Ben no longer attempted to check the sobs. “It is indeed, sir. We were so close in age, he was as much friend as family. I have but few memories of which he is not a part.”

The tears flowed so freely now, he abandoned speech. And Washington did the most unexpected thing—he rose from his chair and walked around to the other side so that he might put an arm around Ben’s shoulders. When he squeezed him closer with his sure grip, Ben let his tear-streaked head fall to Washington’s shoulder.

When Ben could finally breathe like a normal man, he sat up straight, and Washington released him. He was about to wipe his nose on his cuff when Washington pressed a handkerchief into his fingers. “Thank you, sir. I think I am better now. Would you like to hear the rest of my report?”

Washington contemplated the offer before asking, “Is there anything you believe I must know before you have slept, bathed, and eaten?”

Ben thought of all that had happened, but he came across no immediate detail. “There is more you should know, but nothing that will likely change any decisions you need to make in the next few hours.”

“What about the next eight?” he asked, with a kindly smile.

 Ben felt such gratitude wash over him, he feared he might begin crying again. “Nor the next eight, sir.”

“Very well. You are dismissed, Benjamin.”

Ben rose and nodded and with his heightened emotions and fatigue, it took him until he was out of the door to realize that General Washington had just called him by his Christian name.

***

The loss of his brother and the fury at Rogers faded to the background with work. The feelings never left Ben entirely, lingering like a still healing bruise, but both became manageable as he threw himself into spycraft with Sackett. When they received the code Abe had found, not only did the work serve as a distraction, but they finally had the breakthrough they had hoped for when they sent Abe into York City.

Washington’s excitement at the news could not have pleased Ben more. He often thought of the General’s kind embrace, the weight and security of his hand resting on Ben’s shoulder, and he took strength from it. More and more, all Ben wished for was to please and be near His Excellency. _A lifetime of service in his presence would see my life fulfilled_.

But then Ben discovered he could only have a part of what he desired. The smile and admiration on Washington’s face were everything he had ever wanted to earn from the great man, but Ben simultaneously became a victim and beneficiary of his success. Washington now trusted him to lead an important part of the counter feint and use his own discretion in doing so, something any Major would rightfully burst with pride at having been granted. And yet.

 _I must go from Washington’s presence. I am to join General Arnold, a commander I have long wished to meet, but no sane man would exchange His Excellency for any man alive. It was but a foolish dream that I would be always where Washington was. Only his aides, his Family, are with him wherever he goes. I am not that. But I will learn to find happiness in whatever I may do to fulfill his desires_.

“You ready to ride, Tallboy?” Caleb asked.

Ben shook himself awake from his reverie. He stood next to his horse, loaded and ready for the trip North, but he stared at Washington’s headquarters, hoping he might see the General one final time before they left camp. A silly daydream, Ben well knew, and he must not hold up their departure.

“Of course, I am. I’ve just been waiting for you.” Ben swung himself into the saddle and peered down at his friend. “And you, Lieutenant Brewster?”

“Oh, I was born ready, as you well know.”

Ben smiled as Caleb mounted and he studied his troops from this new vantage. All looked in readiness, and he received nods from his other officers that they could now depart. He nodded back, the plume of his helmet brushing his cheek.

And so he faced forward in the saddle and gently flicked the reins to start his horse on the path out of Morristown. He spared a final glance at headquarters, and his stomach somersaulted—General Washington had stepped outside, and from what Ben could gather, for no better reason than to see them off. His face burned and his breath would barely come, but he sat taller in the saddle, and nodded to Washington who nodded back, his still presence a balm to any nerves the men might feel as they headed off to their new assignment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've changed some of the character tags to better reflect who actually has dialogue, as opposed to who merely gets mentioned a lot in passing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Memorial Day! It only seems appropriate to post an extra chapter today. This chapter takes the story up to Season 2 Episode 1.

When Benjamin rode into camp, George found himself in the frustrating position of pretending as though he did not tremble with the desire to run out and embrace him. Ridiculous, he well knew, but in Benjamin’s absence he had been able to think closely about his feelings and he had reached a vital conclusion—he wanted Benjamin. He could fight the feelings or he could accept them, and he chose to make peace with his desire. Actions, however, he must continue to battle. Some simple soldiers might find discreet comfort in one another in the cold and lonely nights of camp, but not the commander and one of his officers. Or could they?

George had still come to no decision about approaching Benjamin, but that question had no bearing on how George could behave before the troops. The commander did not leap from his work to welcome back a major who had been sent on a mission he never actually completed. He supposed they would have to discuss that fact. Discretion on a mission gave an officer leeway, but George needed more information before he could decide if Benjamin had utterly overstepped.

Forcing himself to concentrate, George returned to the letters on the desk before him. He read them and made mental notes about who he would need to speak with, how he would direct his aides to answer, and tucked away tidbits for later use. Benjamin may be within his grasp, but that could not suspend the important work of the rest of the Army. Although he certainly had information to share. He ought to be here, now, reporting, not merely about this odd raid on Setauket, but what their agents in that town knew. He raised his head from the correspondence and was on the verge of calling out to his guard to bring him Major Tallmadge when a swift knock was followed by his door opening.

“Major Tallmadge to see—” the guard began, but Benjamin pushed by him.

“Yes, I can announce myself, thank you.” Benjamin glared at the guard until he nodded and closed the door.

With a deep breath, Benjamin straightened himself and turned to face George. The tip of his tongue moistened his lips, and George longed to leap over his desk and ravage him. “Your Excellency, I would like to explain my recent behavior on the mission North that you assigned me.”

“Do you refer to the one in which you were meant to join up with General Arnold? I realize I granted you broad discretion, but when I did so, I still expected you to actually _join_ General Arnold, not fight a battle and get your men killed.”

In George’s experience, when an officer was confronted so openly with a failure to follow orders, there were two possible reactions. One, the officer would look ashamed and throw himself on the mercy of his commander. If he were stupid or cowardly, he would also offer excuses for his behavior. From the advanced messenger Benjamin had sent to camp, George knew he had an excuse for his actions, but Benjamin did not strike George as unintelligent or craven. The second reaction was to become combative and for the officer to try to appear more intelligent than his commander. While Benjamin had no false modesty, neither was he a braggart. The simple fact was George could not guess how Benjamin would respond to the charges before him.

“I regret the men killed, sir, very much,” Benjamin said solemnly, head bowed. “And I would never have led them into battle if I did not believe I could do so while still serving your mission.” Here he paused and met George’s eyes steadily. “We were part of a feint, and what better way to make the British believe we knew nothing of their plans than to attack a town away from where we knew they intend to fight?”

“So you are saying that you would not have given battle in your hometown if it had not been part of the feint?”

“I will never tell you anything but the truth, sir, and the fact is, even if it had gone counter to my mission, I certainly would have considered it. I like to think I would have not endangered the men and our purpose, though. What I would have done personally, well, I do not know that I would have been able to turn away knowing my own father was sentenced to death.” He stopped speaking so abruptly, George physically started to his feet, but he stopped when Benjamin chuckled with nothing but contempt in the sound. “When we arrived and spoke with Mr. Culper, he told us he had been able to commute the sentence from execution to imprisonment on the Jersey, as though there’s a difference between the two. I could never have allowed that to happen, as I’m sure you understand.”

George understood quite well. He now walked around his desk to rest a hand upon Benjamin’s shoulder. He feared to ask his next question, but he must know. “And were you able to save your father?”

Benjamin sagged and George gripped him tighter. “Yes, sir. All of the prisoners were eventually released, save one who was executed as we began our attack, and another killed during negotiations. That man was Lieutenant Brewster’s uncle. He’s taken it quite hard, sir.”

“I am inexpressibly sorry for his loss. Please extend my condolences.”

Benjamin nodded, “And we were so hurried at the end, I never had a chance to tell my father about Samuel.” Eyes glistening, he looked to George as he said, “Or I was too much of a coward to find the time. I’m heartily ashamed of myself, sir.”

George longed to embrace Benjamin, but he dare not take the liberty. He only allowed himself to tighten his grip and move his body closer, stopping, though, before they actually touched. “You have nothing with which to reproach yourself, Benjamin. You saved your father as well as the other patriots of Setauket, all while leading the British to believe we do not know of their intentions. I am quite pleased with you.”

“But my father?” Benjamin asked and said no more.

George knew the best remedy for unwanted emotion was often duty. Benjamin could not be talked out of his current pain, but perhaps he could be worked out of it. “What can you tell me about our agents in Setauket? Were you able to speak with them?”

Benjamin sniffed and straightened his posture, jarring George’s hand in such a way that it would be awkward to let it remain there. He allowed it to drop and took two steps back so that he might lean against the front of his desk.

“I did speak with Mr. Culper and 729.” He paused and frowned. “I had the chance to tell them about Samuel. 729 will tell my father. She’s been a tremendous friend all of my life. I think she cleaned more of my skinned knees than my own mother.” Benjamin swiftly ran a hand over his eyes to rid them of tears. “My apologies for becoming sidetracked, Your Excellency. I did speak with both of our agents about the state of things in Setauket and what they may be able to uncover. But mostly, I was able to reassure Culper of his importance, especially if he can find his way into York City more frequently.”

“Benjamin, I let it pass the first time you said it, because I thought I misheard, but are we now calling Mr. Culpepper, Culper?”

“Oh, yes, sir. He has taken some fancy to Culper in favor of Culpepper. I hope it does not bother you.”  
  
George frowned, wondering not for the first time precisely what kind of man Abraham Woodhull must be. To complain about his codename smacked of an affectation that did not bode well for future operations. Or was George the one being fastidious for no significant reason, as he clung to a memory of when he was a young, happy surveyor in Culpepper County? “Culper it is then, I suppose.” For a moment, George studied Benjamin as he fought to stand at attention against the pain and regrets that weighed him down. He longed to hold Benjamin, to lightly brush their lips together, and finally to whisper that everything would be alright.

“Is there anything else, sir?” Benjamin asked when the silence lasted too long.

“It is good to have you back, Benjamin. Please continue your work, for I have every faith in you.”

Benjamin pressed his lips tightly closed and nodded his head. “It is good to be back, and to know I still have your support, sir. I apologize for ever putting it in doubt.”

George could no longer entirely restrain himself, taking the two steps back to Benjamin. All he trusted himself to do was once more to place his hands upon Benjamin’s shoulders. “Never doubt your importance to me. I assure you, I do not.”

Unless George misread the movement, Benjamin melted into the touch and inched himself closer. For a moment, George thought he would wrap Benjamin in his arms and press Benjamin hard against his shoulder when someone knocked on the door. Benjamin jumped and tried to pull free from George’s grip, but George held firm and smiled soothingly at Benjamin before squeezing one final time and dropping his hands to his sides.

“Enter,” George announced to the knock.

***

Dearest Martha,

               I pray this letter finds you and everyone at Mount Vernon well. Things in camp are much as they ever are, a situation you understand far too well for me to waste time describing in detail. I hope that Providence will see a victory for us before the end of the summer, for our cause is just and the men brave.

               Even though I have no news of military interest, I did wish to write to inform you of an engagement I’ve entered into, although only on my own side. I long to tell you more in person, but even if no contract is ever formally agreed upon, my interest is piqued, and I always prefer to discuss such engagements with you in person.  

At this point, George dropped his quill and wished he might feel free to put into this letter all of his feelings about Benjamin. The fact was he could no longer question his attraction to Benjamin, and Martha deserved to know of it. But however honest he and Martha might be about such matters, he could not commit them to paper. She would understand what he had so obliquely said, but without the ability to say more he wondered if he should even say this much. No, he and Martha had made promises to one another, and he would sooner die than fail her in this.

“I know what soldiers get up to in camp,” she had laughed at him the first time they discussed the issue shortly after they became engaged. “I do not care what you do to stay warm and comforted on campaign. I don’t even care how you feel about these bed warmers. In fact, I’d much rather you did care about them. The alternative is too sordid and depressing, and I would hope you would respect yourself too much for that. But I do want to know about them, particularly if your affections become deeply engaged. I won’t be jealous, but I also won’t stand for being left in ignorance or lied to.”

It had been the most eminently logical proposal George could have hoped for, and he had readily agreed and granted Martha the same privilege.

He wanted to tell her everything, but it would clearly have to wait until she could visit camp again. Until then, he would have to content himself with this ridiculous paragraph of nonsense.

He finished the letter with some thoughts on Mount Vernon and a request he wished Martha to forward to his tailor. He sighed and sealed the letter and sat back in his chair to think. What would Martha say if she were here? What would she make of Benjamin? She would like him, George had no doubts. Who would not—handsome, polite, passionate.

Too passionate. George had forgiven and understood Benjamin’s diversion to Setauket, but ever since returning to camp, Benjamin had channeled all of his energies on one topic—the generals who wished to see George ousted. He would be flattered by the affection of the act if it did not cause so many problems.

As intelligent as Benjamin was, he was no politician. And that is what the situation called for, not public condemnation and courts-martial. This moment required finesse and cleverly worded letters to precisely the correct people, which was exactly what he was already doing in his own, quiet way. The last thing that would serve George personally or the Army would be for him to lower himself to refute any of this before fellow generals or Congress. He had thought of explaining this to Benjamin, including how close Versailles might be to supporting their cause if they just managed to look like competent allies. But he was the commander of the Continental Army, and whatever feelings he bore for his subordinate should not change the fact that a general did not explain himself to a major.

George needed to find Benjamin an outlet for his passion. Squandering the diligence and fervor with which he defended George would be a missed opportunity. Of course, Benjamin ought to be directing his enthusiasm into spycraft. Perhaps George should have a chat with Mr. Sackett to see if he had any projects that might distract Benjamin from the anonymous pamphlets floating around the Army. And then George could concentrate on his other meetings instead of worrying what trouble Benjamin might be inadvertently causing. Or about how his deep blue eyes flashed with offense on George’s behalf.

George rubbed his weary eyes, longing to remove the vision of Benjamin in his mind so he might return to his correspondence. But Benjamin lingered at the edge of every thought. Once again, George found himself wondering if while he was in Setauket, Benjamin had some female friend of the family alter his pants or had he put on a bit more muscle? In either case, George noticed that they fit more snugly now. Whatever the case, they were a beautiful distraction, but George had no need for diverting thoughts when he had a letter to write to Martha’s son, Jackie, gently reminding him of familial obligations.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers up to Season 2 Episode 3. 
> 
> And I've finished revisions! Look for new chapters every few days.

“That wasn’t your smartest move, Tallboy.”

Caleb tried to dab at the cut along Ben’s hairline, but Ben snatched the cloth away and did it himself. He knew damned well getting into a fight with Bradford and his cronies was a terrible idea. Well, he knew it now. At the time, it seemed as if defending General Washington was his only option. The moment Caleb started giggling when Ben told him what Bradford had said to cause Ben to throw the first punch, his mistake became obvious.

“You’re defending Georgie’s boys, are you?” Caleb laughed. And Ben immediately understood that _he_ was one of those boys Bradford had been talking about, although not in the way he meant. But God knew Ben wished it was in that way.

_Your inability to control your stupid, wild fantasies will spell disaster soon. It’s one thing if Caleb suspects, but if anyone else in camp should guess how you feel, you might as well go drown yourself for all the good you’ll be able to do Washington. But God! Why does even Caleb have to know?_

But Caleb knew him far too well and knew about what had happened with Nathan. Of course, Caleb had guessed long ago how Ben felt about Washington. And his laugh, and the very public reason for it, chastened Ben. No one else could know.

He wiped at his cut one more time. The bleeding seemed to have stopped. “Does it look alright?” he asked Caleb.

Caleb bent over to squint at Ben where he sat on the edge of his bed. “Well, your hair’s a mess, but you got the blood out.”

Ben took out his queue and set about pulling it back neatly, but his fingers trembled. “Caleb, do you think…. Do you think they have any idea….”

Caleb smacked his knee. “Nah. Those boys all have rocks for brains. They all think you’re just defending your man’s honor, same as they would defend Lee against some untoward accusations. It would never dawn on them that any of it was true.”

“It’s not,” Ben snapped out. “I mean, it’s not true on General Washington’s part, I’m sure. My feelings don’t matter in it at all.”

“Don’t they now? Huh. I’d always thought you mattered plenty.”

“You know what I mean, Caleb.”

“And you know what I mean.” Caleb patted Ben manfully on the shoulder. “Get some sleep, and stop getting into fights without me around.”

Ben smiled. “Excellent advice.” He waved at his face—the cut and the scrape on his cheek. “Any suggestions for how I explain this if anyone, especially Washington, asks?”

Caleb frowned. “I’d avoid Georgie for a couple of days if I was you.”

With a frown and a shake of his head, Ben went about preparing himself for bed. “Thanks again for the rescue earlier.”

***

George brushed his cuff once again, ready to go into supper, but knowing he was far too early. Billy had put out a clean shirt and cravat so that he might freshen up a bit before the officers arrived, but he had not realized until now how much time still lingered between this moment and sitting down at the table. Perhaps he should return to his desk and read another report or two.

Or he could not bother with any more work this day and pace aimlessly around his room, refighting Brandywine yet again. He had misstepped there and he cursed himself for not being the tactician this Army deserved. But where would rehashing his mistakes yet again get him? He had examined the battle and his role thoroughly already. He would not commit the same errors again.

And he could be happy tonight, as he would finally have an ally coming to camp, and one who could not be dismissed. Arnold was a hero of the field, beloved by the common soldiers and loyal to George. Although he could be distressingly like Benjamin when it came to controlling his passions. Still, it would be better to have him than not.

What would Benjamin make of Arnold? A fiery general who led from the front was very much of the type George suspected Benjamin Tallmadge, major of dragoons, wished to be. But George did hope to make him an officer of intelligence, guarding secrets and using his mind. Benjamin may not know it, but while he longed for glory on the battlefield, George would have traded anything to have Benjamin’s gifts of education. If he might be able to serve this cause with superior intellect as well as physical courage, he would have nothing left to wish for.

But this was all rank nonsense. He had read what military treatises he might, and yet he still lost, and badly, at Brandywine. Benjamin and all of the rest of them ought to forget idols and learn to follow men, for all men are fallible. Yet, they must _follow_.

George stopped in his pacing by the window and mumbled under his breath, “I do not want them to idolize me, but I need their utter and complete loyalty.”

At least tonight, he would have Benjamin and Arnold, two men whose loyalty he could count on. Assuming they did not meet and transfer their loyalties to one another. Unlike other men of Benjamin’s education, he was so unassuming in his knowledge Arnold would never feel pangs of inadequacy. And Arnold with his battlefield acumen and bravery, he would surely enchant Benjamin.

But this was all nonsense. It would be best for George if the two men did get on together. Which they naturally would…as they stood in a corner, listing Arnold’s victories and detailing George’s defeats. “Stop it,” George said aloud.

Remaining in his room with only his own thoughts was no longer tenable. He would go out and see what else happened in headquarters— _his_ headquarters. Tugging his jacket straight, he marched to his mirror, confirmed that his hair and cravat were perfectly in place, and left his room.

***

Afraid of being late, Ben hurried so much he ended up arriving first for dinner. He milled around headquarters, tensed and embarrassed to be doing nothing while the work of Washington’s aides continued uninterrupted in spite of the hour. At one point, he offered to help sort mail, but the young soldier looked utterly affronted and assured Ben it would be quicker if he did it himself rather than explaining the system.

So Ben wandered away, but a moment later, Washington appeared. Ben snapped upright and bowed. “Your Excellency. I realize I am early. Is there anything I might do to help while we wait for the other officers?”

Washington’s eyes narrowed and he peered at Ben in a questioning manner he had never turned toward Ben before. _Damnation. I knew he would notice. I managed to avoid him for one day, but this bruise is going to take forever to fade_. Still, Ben tried to act as though nothing were amiss. “Sir? Is something wrong?”

“I do not know,” Washington answered in his low, enigmatic voice. “Come into my office while we await the others.”

With a lump in his throat, Ben followed Washington into his office, closing the door behind them. Even though they were alone, Washington did not look at him, instead going directly for a candle on the mantle above the still lightly burning fire. Washington lit the candle, then pivoted to address Ben. “Please come here.”

Naturally, Ben complied, but he grew more nervous with each step, for as he neared Washington, he could swear the General’s jaw clenched a little tighter. “Yes, sir?” Ben said when he stopped less than arm’s length away.

Washington’s firm fingers mesmerized Ben where they curled around the candlestick, which he held up to Ben’s face. No, specifically, he held it to the injured side of his face. _Shite! Why did I ever hit Bradford? Dumb bastard isn’t worth this._

“You have a small cut,” Washington said matter-of-factly. “And a bruise on your cheek. How did you come upon these injures?”

“I….” Ben stopped. He couldn’t actually tell Washington. Not only did Washington object to the physical settling of disagreements, whether it be a fistfight or a duel, but Ben did not know if he could explain and not give his true feelings away.

“If you do not wish to tell the truth to the others at dinner, I can understand that. I will even help you concoct a plausible lie if one is needed.” He paused to pull a small curl of hair near the cut free. Washington’s touch with his magnificent, strong hand, here so delicate, the intimacy of the act, left Ben breathless. “I will even see if we can’t cover some of it up. But you will tell me the truth, Benjamin.”

And there it was again—his name in Washington’s glorious voice. Ben had to take a deliberate breath, moisten his lips, before he could answer. “A simple quarrel, sir. Such as happens on occasion in every military camp.”

“A quarrel about what?” Washington asked, but Ben turned his face away. When Washington repeated the question, it was with the low growl that only entered his voice when he would not be denied, and who was Ben to fight such a command? “On what topic did you quarrel, Benjamin? And with whom?”

Ben sighed, knowing he had no options. He could only pray Washington would find some way to forgive him. “I quarreled with Bradford and some of General Lee’s other men. We…we quarreled about you, sir.” Throughout this little speech, Ben had turned his gaze to the fire, but when he finished, he glanced at Washington to see precisely how much trouble he was in.

But Washington did not look upset so much as disappointed.

Washington’s frown deepened, but he never released Ben’s eye, allowing no possibility of Ben looking away. “How many times must I tell you not to defend me?”

“At least once more, sir. I just find it impossible for men who are so much less than you to speak ill of you without answering back, sir.”

Washington raised his hand and moved it toward Ben, and he braced himself to withstand the sensation of those large fingers on his face again, but then suddenly Washington let it fall. “Your passions are misguided, but not ill-intentioned. If you can believe as much, I understand what drives you.”

In the pause, Ben wanted to say something, do something, but he knew not what. In the end, Washington half frowned, then almost smiled. “The others must surely be arriving now. And we may well be blessed with a surprise guest.”

Ben grinned. “But if you know, sir, it is not a surprise.”

“And if you do not know, why are you my head of intelligence?” Washington tucked the strand of hair he had pulled loose earlier behind Ben’s ear.

Ben blushed and stood frozen for a moment as Washington headed for the door. But he had no time to hesitate. If he hurried, he might be able to pull aside a scout or one of the General’s aides before dinner and find something out about the surprise guest.

***

“Nice young man,” Arnold told George later when they were alone after dinner.

George didn’t need to ask who Arnold meant, but he did so anyway, hoping beyond hope he might be wrong. “To which young man might you be referring?”

“The one who gave me his chair at dinner.”

“Major Tallmadge, yes. Excellent horseman.” Horseman? It was entirely true, and he and Arnold were certainly two men who appreciated a man who could ride, but of all the things to say. He felt like an awkward teenager suddenly.

“If that’s the case, you should send him with me. What’s his current position?”

“He commands some of my dragoons. But I’m sorry, I need him with me.”

The truth was George had fumed inwardly when he saw how the two men looked at each other at dinner. Benjamin gazed at Arnold, clearly so impressed, so hopeful, so…much like how he had only ever looked at George before. But Arnold was magnetic to brave young men, and George could see Benjamin slipping under his sway. Not that emulating Arnold or placing oneself under his mentorship was inadvisable as a general rule. Yet it was decidedly not what George wanted for Benjamin. No, Benjamin was shrewd and crafty, and could appreciate the elegance of fighting in ways that did not require a musket or sword. None of that would be nurtured under Arnold. Benjamin must stay with him. George would teach him everything he needed to know.

“You have other dragoons, George. Give me this boy, and we’ll rip apart anything Burgoyne throws at us.”

“And you forget, general, that you will do as General Gates and I declare you ought. And you will do it without Major Tallmadge. Is that clear?”

“Jesus, George, no need to go getting official. Even though you know I can run circles around that devious bastard, Gates, if you’d just let me.”

George allowed Arnold to vent his spleen about Gates through another glass and a half of Madeira. Normally, he would have checked such a tirade but perhaps if Arnold got this out of his system, it would help him focus when he returned to his post. And as long as he was complaining about Gates, he wasn’t talking (George hoped not even thinking) about Benjamin. Perhaps what he needed to do was clarify his purposes and plans to Benjamin, and pull Benjamin so tightly and irrevocably into his sphere of influence, Arnold could not touch Benjamin.

***

And then everything happened so fast. There was a battle at Saratoga, and when Ben heard about Arnold rallying the cavalry charge, he’d never been so sad to miss something in his life. Gates, naturally, tried to take the glory, but even Burgoyne acknowledged it as Arnold’s victory. Of course, then Gates tried to tarnish the feat by claiming Arnold disobeyed orders without realizing that it only made him look like a coward to say he attempted to prevent Arnold’s heroic charge that had turned defeat into victory.

 _To have been there!_ It was Ben’s constant thought, except when he was with Mr. Sackett, and then he reveled in the possibilities of what he might do for the war effort and General Washington. Somehow, there were those who not only did not find Gates a coward, but believed him a suitable replacement for Washington. _As if that man were fit to clean His Excellency’s boots!_ But there existed those who would see General Washington removed as commander of the Continental Army, and Ben’s greatest passion was to expose them for the traitorous bastards they were.

And when Ben wasn’t working to ensnare Washington’s enemies or dreaming of battlefield glory, he was with Washington, and when he could not be with the General, he fantasized about him. He blamed the General (although not really) for his wandering mind. Ever since the night of the officers dinner, Washington had been more…affectionate. It seemed like such an odd way to put it, especially about a man so famously reserved, but Ben could swear that he noticed little differences. The General’s gaze lingered longer, and it possessed a tenderness Ben had never seen from him previously. And worse (or better?) yet, there were now little touches. He had assumed Washington arranging his hair to cover his cut had been an aberration. But the General now patted his shoulder, once brushed lint from the lapel of Ben’s jacket. And surely Ben had just been dreaming when he thought Washington deliberately allowed their fingers to brush whenever they passed each other something, whether it be a letter or a glass of water. Each time, it was nearly enough to send Ben from the room trembling with suppressed bliss.

Whatever the case, Ben often left Washington’s presence so utterly aroused all he could pray for was to find his tent empty. Ben knew his feelings for Washington were as impossible as ever, but that did not stop them from growing. Every day, he not only admired His Excellency more, but he loved him more. Wanted him more.

But it would never happen, and that was for the best. Yet Ben could still dream, wrap his own hand around himself and wish it were Washington’s powerful hand. And he could defend Washington, since he refused to do so himself. Soon, the men from Saratoga would return and Ben knew how he would force the General’s enemies into revealing themselves in a manner in which Washington could not deny. Washington might be able to turn his back on Abagail’s note that Lee was a traitor, but if Ben had proof that both Lee and Gates were traitors, well, then Washington would be forced to act in his own defense.

***

The victory at Saratoga could not be better for the Continental Army, at the same time it could not be worse for George personally. This dual truth kept him awake at night as he tried to fight guilt with practical solutions. Sadly, unlike Burgoyne, guilt had yet to be defeated.

Whether or not the laurels belonged to Gates or Arnold, it caused George problems. The fact any general won a victory that was not him brought about calls for his replacement. Because Gates had long been favored to replace him, his command at the battle strengthened Gates’s position with many in Congress.

But if the British had only been defeated thanks to the heroism of Arnold, who once more had survived having a horse shot from under him, that proved problematic in his relationship with Benjamin. George had felt them growing closer, and his own desire threatened to spill over every day. But then the news of Saratoga reached them, and Benjamin’s worshipful looks focused on any praise he heard of Arnold. George would lose Benjamin at this rate, and he did not think he could let him go.

George dreamed of Benjamin when he managed to sleep. It was always disjointed—flashes of lips and eyes and his bare flank. But the phantom sense of Benjamin’s skin invaded his fingertips. He must manage his emotions and guide Benjamin’s youthful enthusiasm. This state of things could not continue indefinitely. Not to mention what would come of them if the calls for his ouster should be heeded. George needed to formulate a plan of action and act soon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers up through Season 2 Episode 3.
> 
> Also, I've been thinking a lot about my tags as I finished revisions, so I've changed them a fair bit. You might want to check them out.

George sat quietly before his fire, his copy of _Cato_ open on his lap, but he did not read. He had a plan and had sent for Benjamin, but now he wondered if he had not made a fatal mistake. Even if he was right about Benjamin’s relationship with Nathan, and even if the way Benjamin looked at him seemed to melt his bones, that did not mean Benjamin had any desire to do what George wished. Benjamin may have outgrown his urges for his own sex, as boys were meant to do. And Benjamin’s feelings for him could be the same sort of hero worship so many young officers felt for their commanders. Benjamin, after all, was far from the only man who looked at George a bit awestruck—he was just the only one who made George feel something in return.

He sighed and closed the book, tapping the binding against the arm of his chair. Where was Benjamin? He should be here by now. George loosened his cravat a bit but did not untie it. He’d already removed jacket and boots. To be found any more undressed might well frighten Benjamin. On the other hand, George felt as though he may choke with anticipation. Surely, he ought not broach his feelings with Benjamin. He could say he had summoned Benjamin to discuss something else, perhaps ask more about this Abagail he seemed to know and trust.

But Benjamin had been in such a furor lately. As his commander and would-be lover, George could not ignore the issue any longer. Tonight he would proceed with his plan and let Providence decide Benjamin’s response.

A swift knock was immediately followed by his door opening. George pivoted in his chair, but did not rise. It was Benjamin being shown in by Billy Lee. George nodded to Billy to let him know he was no longer needed. Billy closed the door, and George finally found himself alone with Benjamin.

Benjamin took in George’s appearance, blushed, and turned his eyes away. “Sir, I…I’m sorry to disturb you, but I was told you wished to see me.”

“I do, and you are not disturbing me.” George dropped _Cato_ on the table next to him and picked up the decanter. “Allow me to pour you a glass of wine.”

“Thank you.” Benjamin opened his mouth as though he would continue, George guessed to ask why he was here, but he pressed his lips together instead. Those amazing lips.

George decided it might be best to answer the question even without him asking. “I asked you here at this time of night because I would like this conversation to be informal. Do you object?” He held out a glass, beckoning Benjamin to him.

“Not at all, sir,” Benjamin said aloud, but his slightly unsteady hand when he reached for his wine exhibited anything but comfort.

“You may find this difficult to believe,” George said, standing awkwardly a few feet away from Benjamin, hesitating, unsure if he should lead them to somewhere to sit, “but you remind me of my younger self.”

Benjamin swallowed a too large mouthful of wine and made a face as he gave a small cough. “That is a remarkable compliment, sir. Thank you. Although, you are so different from me now and cannot see how it is possibly true.”

“I have not always been as outwardly composed as I appear to the world at this point in my life. I spent a great deal of my youth learning to harness my passions.”

“Ah, yes, sir,” Benjamin said, eyes downcast. “You have succeeded admirably, whereas, as you have mentioned before, I need to find an outlet for my enthusiasm. Tallmadges have fiery personalities. I think it is what makes my father such a good preacher.”

“And I would not wish for you to be less passionate.” George paused, uncertain how to continue, wondering how he might reach where he wished to be from where they were at this moment. Perhaps he should be bold. Benjamin had only become more enamored with Arnold since word reached camp of his exploits at Saratoga, and now with his return, George could not risk losing any part of Benjamin to Arnold. “I wonder, Benjamin, if I might be able to help you focus your passions.”

Benjamin’s moist lips parted slightly. Did his breath catch as well? George thought it might have. In any case, he said, “I would gratefully accept any help you are willing to give me, sir.”

“Is that so?” George answered. And he was in no doubt that his own voice was unquestionably a bit breathless.

“Yes, sir.”

George took a step toward Benjamin. They were not touching, but they were far too close for propriety. He started to raise his free hand to Benjamin’s cheek, but he flinched, and George allowed his hand to fall to his side. “Society is an odd creature,” George said. “We are told certain things are acceptable in our youth, but we are meant to outgrow them and then act as though we never knew those pleasures.”

“I…,” Benjamin’s eye flicked away. “I do not know what you mean, Your Excellency.”

“I think you do. Because unless I am very much mistaken, you took a young man’s pleasure with your friend, Nathan.” Benjamin did not respond in words, but even in the dim light of fire and two candles, George could see him blush. “And those pleasures are not something you need to leave behind, if you do not wish it.”

Benjamin’s lips parted, but he could not form words. George took the wine from his hand and set both of their glasses down. When he stepped back to Benjamin, George risked a brush of the backs of his fingers across Benjamin’s cheek. Instead of pulling away as George had feared, Benjamin closed his eyes and sighed.

“I have not given up those pleasures,” George whispered. “I want you to know you are under no obligation to answer in any way other than what your own inclination dictates—at this moment, I am not your commander and you are not my subordinate. We are two men, two soldiers, and what we do in camp to find affection and comfort is for no one else to judge.” He paused, took a deep breath, and said, “But I must tell you Benjamin, I have had endless thoughts about where I would like to feel your mouth upon my person.”

As he said this last, George cupped Benjamin’s cheek and pressed his thumb against damp lips, those glorious, rosy lips. Benjamin gasped and George’s thumb slipped inside, Benjamin’s lips closing around it. George felt around Benjamin’s tongue just as he began to suck. Using this connection, George pulled Benjamin closer. When Benjamin opened his sweet blue eyes, George yanked his thumb free so he might press their lips together.

The kiss was what George had always hoped for—wet, open, hard. Once unleashed, Benjamin’s passions set to devouring George. It took every ounce of well-practiced self-control to stop him from succeeding. Yes, George wanted to be Benjamin’s outlet, but he wanted to direct it. And do a little devouring of his own.

George pulled away just enough to speak. “Do you want to hear all of the places I’ve envisioned your mouth, Benjamin?”

Benjamin panted, his eyes a bit wild as they searched George’s face. “Yes, sir. All of them, please.”

George smiled. “You may dispense with the ‘sirs.’ You might even call me ‘George’ if you wish.”

“I don’t think I can, General. But please don’t let that mean we have to stop.”

George pulled Benjamin tight against his body and kissed him again. Both of them were hard against each other. George would see that beautiful mouth on his erection tonight—all the ‘sirs’ in the world would not prevent that.

“If you remove my cravat,” George said against Benjamin’s mouth, “you might begin your journey.”

With relish, Benjamin yanked the cravat free and tossed it on the nearby bed. Without need of any further instruction, he started sucking on George’s neck, George happy to tilt his head back to afford a better angle. George buried his fingers in Benjamin’s hair, pulling it all free from its queue as he had longed to do since they had first met.

“How in Heaven’s name does your mouth feel even better than I had imagined? I have an excellent imagination, you know.”

 Benjamin’s only reply was a hum and a flick of his tongue against George’s throat.

George swiveled his head so Benjamin might access the other side of his neck. He swore he could feel his pulse under Benjamin’s lips. He needed Benjamin. Now. “Do not under any circumstance stop what you are doing, but I must have you out of your clothes.”

Once more Benjamin hummed is assent, and George went to work on his cravat and the buttons of his waistcoat. Benjamin shrugged out of his jacket and then George could feel the backs of Benjamin’s hands against his erection as Benjamin undid his own belt. Once George pushed the waistcoat over Benjamin’s shoulders, he pulled those searching lips from his neck and pressed them against his mouth.

“Shirt,” George said swiftly before removing the inconvenient article of clothing as fast as possible. He wanted to stand and stare at Benjamin, now naked from the waist up, admiring the taut muscles under the soft skin, but George needed more. “Bed,” he ordered.

Benjamin compiled without hesitation, perching at the edge of the bed. George bent and removed first one boot and then the other. Without needing to say a word, Benjamin jumped back to his feet, and with their fingers entwined, they pushed pants and underclothes over hips and thighs and calves to the floor.

And here George did take a moment to appreciate the magnificent body in front of him. Benjamin was simply as beautiful a figure as he had ever set eyes on. A tight stomach, thighs made for riding, and what now stood out between them….

George pulled him back into a kiss, running hands down the bare back, over what had always looked to be a perfect backside and turned out to be precisely that. “You are the most exquisite creature in the world.”

Benjamin pecked at his lips. “Thank you, sir. But I fear you’ve become distracted.” He rubbed his naked body against George’s still entirely clothed figure. “You were telling me all of the places you would like my mouth.”

He kissed George so fiercely no answer could come immediately. But finally George leaned far enough back to speak. “Unbutton my waistcoat and you might find one or two.”

They kissed more as Benjamin went about his task. George loved how their mouths fitted together, as if they had been designed to meet under this very circumstance. Somehow they always opened and closed, tongues performing their intricate dance, as though they had been doing this together for years. George found himself so immersed in the sensation and contemplation of its perfection that he did not notice when Benjamin had finished with his waistcoat. In fact, George only became aware of how far Benjamin had proceeded when he pulled George’s shirt free from his pants and then dropped to his knees, pushing the shirt up so as he might press his mouth to George’s stomach.

George moaned, the sensation of tongue against his abdomen making him realize how uncomfortable it was to have pants on. Benjamin grin against George’s flesh when he heard that moan. “Have I managed to find a spot, sir?”

“You have, indeed. There are two others a bit higher that might require not only your lips, but your teeth.”

Benjamin’s hums of approval when his mouth was otherwise occupied could easily become addictive. The sound alone thrilled George, but the feel of it reverberating through his skin made the sweetest violin sound harsh by comparison. Rising from his knees, Benjamin pushed his hands up George’s chest, the shirt coming with them. Once he had it almost to George’s throat, Benjamin’s hands stilled, and his head dipped to George’s left nipple. At first he merely fluttered his lips over it, forcing it even more taut than it had been. When his tongue swept across it, George groaned deep in his throat. And, finally, then came Benjamin’s teeth, and George hissed in a breath, nearly undone by the delicious pain. Benjamin kissed and sucked and bit again, and George, who had thrown his head back in ecstasy, now made himself look, enjoying the sight of Benjamin’s pink lips on him.

“The other, Benjamin,” he said, a harsh whisper the only sound his words could make. “Don’t forget the other.”

With a final, quick suck, Benjamin traced his lips across George’s chest to the other nipple. This time, there was no tease, just Benjamin’s teeth latched hard around George’s already aching nipple. It hurt, and he thought of grabbing a handful of beautiful, loose blond hair, but the pain radiated down his body to his straining pants. He felt alive and virile, and there was now one more place he desperately needed Benjamin’s mouth.

George moaned, uncertain if he even had the mental capacity to voice his request. If necessary, he could just force Benjamin to where he wanted him, and while that had a certain appeal, it would be best to save that sort of activity for a later encounter. “Benjamin,” he said through gritted teeth. “You are glorious.” For his praise, George received a swirl of tongue across his sore nipple. “But I need your mouth somewhat lower now.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Benjamin released his nipple and dropped his lithe, naked body to his knees. He set to work on George’s pants, and George whipped his shirt off, not wanting the long tail to obscure his view.

It took Benjamin no time to free his erection, but for the first time since that initial kiss, Benjamin was neither teasing nor wanton. Instead, he held George in his hand and looked up, beautiful eyes shining and brimming with affection. It was much like the loving way he often looked at George, but now there was added depth that said, “I love you. I want you. Please love me back. Please find me good enough.” It made George breathless, but he cupped Benjamin’s cheek, hoping to convey in that touch half of what he felt and a fraction of what he read in Benjamin’s eyes.

Benjamin kissed the tip as though it were something delicate and sacred. George could feel his precum smeared across the tip and he longed for Benjamin to swallow him. Instead, Benjamin licked the underside, slowly from root to crown. George’s legs were already shaking with lust and his every breath was labored. How would he actually stand it, quite literally, when he saw and felt Benjamin’s lips around him?

But he did withstand it. In fact, he gloried in it when his erection disappeared into Benjamin’s mouth. He thought he moaned Benjamin’s name, but he could not be entirely sure. All he knew for certain was that he did not want this to end. He longed to be a young man again with stamina who could enjoy the pleasures of the flesh the entire night.

But quicker, far quicker, than he could have liked, he felt his release building. Benjamin just sucked too hard and his tongue was too clever for this to last. Being so eager to please, George doubted it ever dawned on the young man to let up to draw it out. Then again, at his age, you could always try again. George would have to explain the intricacies of having an older lover. Next time.

George gripped Benjamin’s hair tight as that burning in his belly grew. He thought of saying something, but he could not speak. Surely Benjamin knew what was about to happen. This thought was quickly followed by a blank mind overwhelmed with sensation. He panted and trembled—his legs and the fingers entwined in Benjamin’s hair—and then his climax hit and it required all of his strength and agility to remain upright.

Benjamin stayed with him until he had completely spent, finally pulling off when George had nothing else to give. He panted and cleared his throat but kept his head bowed to the ground. George used the hand still in his hair to tilt his face up. Benjamin’s eyes were wide, cheeks flushed, lips more red and moist than at any other point in the night. A small spot of seed clung to the corner of his mouth, and George swiped it away with his thumb.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” George asked. Benjamin turned away and blushed more. “Stand up.”

Benjamin, of course, did so, but his eyes still darted away from George’s face. George wrapped his arms around Benjamin’s hips. “You truly don’t,” George said. He put a hand to Benjamin’s cheek and forced him to make eye contact. “You are a marvel.”

When George leaned in to kiss him, Benjamin jumped out of his grasp. “Sir, you do not want to do that. At least let me have some wine first.”

George blocked him from going to the table where their glasses sat and pulled their bodies flushed together. “Do not presume to know what I want.” George pressed their mouths hard together, forcing his tongue through Benjamin’s reluctant lips, and once inside, made a slow, deliberate survey of Benjamin’s mouth. After Benjamin relaxed into the kiss and they enjoyed the taste of one another for a time, George broke the kiss. “Now, help me out of the rest of my clothes and get on the bed.”

The frantic fumblings and ripping of earlier had passed, and Benjamin showed real composure, steadying George as he stepped out of the remainder of what he wore. George then led him to the bed and let him stretch out on his back. The fleeting thought that Benjamin should be painted thus passed through his mind before he climbed onto the bed and knelt between Benjamin’s legs.

Benjamin suddenly looked frightened and sat up to protest, but George silenced him with a finger to his lips. “Lie back and let me do for you as you have done for me.”

“But, sir, you truly do not have to. I can leave now. I’m... more than capable of taking care of myself.”

George could not deny himself a smirk. “I’ve no doubt that you can, and some night I may have you prove it to me, but for this night, I wish to take care of you. Do you want to go against my wishes?”

“No, sir, but—”

Whatever objection Benjamin intended to make was cut off by his moan as George swallowed him in his entirety. Benjamin bumped the back of George’s throat, and he relaxed and reveled in the smell and taste of Benjamin. Slowly, he sucked his way back to the tip, driving his tongue into the slit. This elicited an even louder moan, too loud, in fact.

George pulled off and let Benjamin’s erection bob back against his stomach. “This will never do,” he whispered. But then George saw his cravat lying beside Benjamin’s shoulder. He slid up Benjamin’s body while Benjamin apologized and made excuses, but George continued up, dropping kisses along the way, until he reached Benjamin’s mouth. George kissed him fiercely and deeply while he grabbed the cravat. He drew back from the kiss, and before Benjamin could say anymore, he shoved the cravat into that lovely mouth that started all of this trouble in the first place.

“Better,” George said, and then proceeded to lick his way down Benjamin’s body. Bless him, he took advantage of the gag, moaning louder and deeper, but the sound was nicely muffled. George grinned when he got back in position and resumed his work. Benjamin’s responses—muted groans, thrusting hips, and clenched fists—all thrilled George. He delighted in a responsive lover, and the way Benjamin reacted to George’s ministration made him long to be young again so he might take Benjamin completely this very night.

George made certain to change pressure and depth and establish no specific rhythm so as to draw out Benjamin’s pleasure as long as his jaw would allow, but Benjamin could not last forever. Eventually he began to twist and whine, and George could feel how near he was. But just as George was about to transition to finishing him off, Benjamin tried to pull George by the hair and remove him. George ignored him and continued about his task, making Benjamin whine louder.

“Sir, please. You must stop. I’m about to—”

George, once again, let Benjamin fall from his mouth. He made certain he wore his most disapproving frown when he looked up. “Did I say you could take that out?”

“No, sir. But—”

“If you are going to insist on addressing me as, ‘sir,’ then you ought to obey orders. Put the cravat back in your mouth and allow me to finish my work.”

Flushed and breathless, Benjamin’s trembling hand returned the gag to where it belonged.

George attacked Benjamin with renewed zeal, sucking faster and harder than he had at any time. Yet he could feel Benjamin trying to hold back, afraid to spend in his commander’s mouth. If he thought he could hold out indefinitely under George’s talents, he had a great deal to learn.

Slipping his finger into his mouth alongside Benjamin, George covered it with saliva as best he could. He then reached under Benjamin, and after a cursory circling of his entrance, he pushed inside. Benjamin’s moan was almost too loud even with the gag. George worked his mouth as fast as he could and crooked his finger and found what he needed to inside Benjamin to make him spend no matter how against his will it might be.

And he climaxed. He thrashed and whimpered and tried to push down against the finger, while simultaneously trying to thrust up into George’s mouth. George let him go in whatever direction he wished, happy to follow where passion led Benjamin. And when he finished, George slowly let him slide from his mouth and petted his flank while he removed his finger. He kissed Benjamin’s stomach just below his waist, and he let himself smile broadly with the joy now warming his body.

Only once he had a handle on his emotions, though, did he look up at Benjamin, who still lay with eyes closed, trying to catch his breath. The latter would probably be easier without George’s cravat in his mouth. George shifted and reached up to pluck it free. He wiped off Benjamin and his hand before tossing it in the corner with his other dirty laundry.

Sliding up beside Benjamin, George draped an arm across his waist and kissed his cheek. “You’re remarkable Benjamin.” He kissed again. “What I wouldn’t give to keep you here all night.”

Benjamin finally opened his eyes and turned his lovely face to George. “I would love that above all things, sir.”

George chuckled softly. “You shall persist in calling me ‘sir.’ Would you prefer I not call you by your Christian name?”

“No, sir. I love to hear you say my name.”

 George kissed him lightly. “Very well, Benjamin.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers through Season 2 Episode 4.
> 
> Also, for anyone who's made it this far, thanks for reading! And for the comments--they've been really great.

“I am not your father, and you are not my son.”

The words reverberated through Ben’s entire being as he made his way to Setauket. In his life, he had been cursed at, told off, and called countless horrible names (some of which he had even deserved). But no words had ever pierced his heart like Washington’s send off. “I am not your father, and you are not my son.”

Obviously, the words were nothing but objective truth. As paternal as many people saw the General’s relationships with his young aides and officers, he was no one’s father. And considering what they had done, Washington was most _definitely not_ his father. _Nothing has ever been more beautiful and made me feel more perfect. So, of course, I immediately fucked it up._ But Washington’s specific rebuke before Ben left hit at the worst spots in his soul. He was not just telling Ben to grow up, to take responsibility for his actions and make better choices, he was washing his hands of Ben. The General had no obligation to teach Ben how to do his job, and if Ben could not figure out how to do it, no bond of affection existed that would cause Washington to keep him.

Ben had to make it right. He saw now everything he had done wrong ( _Forging a letter? What were you thinking? Idiot!_ ), but if a way of fixing it were possible, he did not know of it. His hope now rested with Abe and Anna, and that they might have a new plan of attack he could take to Washington. If his trip home produced nothing worth offering in apology, Ben did not know how he would show his face in camp.

Perhaps he would be forced to leave Washington’s command and go serve some other general? He could think of no worse punishment. To be removed from His Excellency’s presence. To live in a world where General Washington thought ill of him. He would rather die in battle than live like that. No. He must find his way back into Washington’s light or die trying.

He held out no hopes he might ever again find his way back into Washington’s bed, to hear his name in that beautiful voice, to feel those hands on his body. His mouth would never again move over Washington’s chest. They would never grope at each other again in a fit of lust. He would be unable to look Washington in the eye or expect Washington’s gaze to fall hungrily upon him. What had just begun was already over. He would have nothing but the memory of that single night and his exertions to atone to keep him warm at night.

***

Setauket exceeded Ben’s expectations. Not only had he been able to show Abe and Anna the invisible ink, but Abe had given him something tangible to take to Washington, and it just so happened to be the very thing the General most desired—a man in York City. At least Abe thought he had a man. It was good enough for Ben—he could return to Washington less embarrassed than when he left. Would it be enough to win back his affections? Ben refused to hope for so much. But he could once more do his job for the man most worth serving in this world.

Those thoughts buoyed his spirits as he rode into camp. He looked around anxiously for any sign of the General, but he was most likely inside discussing his correspondence and the latest reports. He should drop his horse at the stable, clean up a bit, and get into a fresh uniform. The General appreciated well-turned out officers, and Ben would do nothing again to disappoint him.

“Major!” hollered a sergeant chasing after him. Ben slowed his horse, but did not stop entirely. He did not have time to stand around chatting with the men, and the sergeant was making good time and would be up with him soon.

“Major,” he said breathlessly, trotting next to the horse, “the general….”

Ben’s agitation could not withstand the man’s panting, and he snapped, “General Washington what?”

The sergeant shook his head. “Not Washington. Arnold. General Arnold has been looking for you for days. You will report to his tent immediately.”

“I will report when I am in uniform,” he growled, spurring his horse on, so that he might get the meeting with Arnold over as soon as possible.

In a moment, Ben had dismounted and thrown the reins to a stable boy, who he also instructed to see to his saddlebags. Hurrying out, he soon met the sergeant once more, who had continued following him. He tried to stop Ben, but he kept going.

“If you have more to say, you can tell it to me in my tent while I change.”

“But you really ought to report directly to General Arnold. I assure you, he is extremely agitated to speak with you.”

_What could Arnold want with me that could possibly be so important? It can’t be anything that won’t hold for 5 minutes. I’ll be damned if I’m going to go all the way to his tent and then back here to change before I report to Washington. He should be happy that thanks to his insistence I’m deigning to see him before General Washington._

The sergeant nattered constantly without saying anything while Ben changed, so when Ben finally walked into Arnold’s tent no more than ten minutes after returning to camp, he still had no idea what Arnold wanted him for. What occurred was an encounter Ben would have never predicted. The fact Arnold was snappish and irritable came as no surprise—he was a man of sanguine temper in pain from a serious wound. But his offer for Ben to become his aide-de-camp astonished.

Yet the meeting only grew more bizarre the longer it went on. Arnold took a tight grip of Ben, raving that Washington did not know who his true friends were. Ben, however, could not say what he found more uncomfortable—Arnold’s oddly intimate embrace and the fire in his eyes, or Ben’s hurt that Arnold’s words about Washington came so close to his own fears.

Without giving General Arnold an answer, Ben stumbled out of the tent, choosing to head back to his own before speaking with Washington. He needed time to think and sort his own feelings before he reported. And while he need not tell Washington today of General Arnold’s offer, he would have to eventually. For today, he would stick with the news of Setauket and Abe’s contact in York City. Ben would see if Washington accepted his offering, if he had earned forgiveness, before he spoke or even hinted at his conversation with Arnold.

***

“Benjamin, come here.”

Ben turned his gaze toward the window. Washington stood there, silhouetted by the sun, a voice and an ethereal presence more than a man. But Ben was helpless to ignore the command, and even though he did not remember making the decision to stand or walk, he was drifting across the room to the voice.

“You’re such a good boy,” Washington said. “You have made everything well again. Take off your clothes.”

Ben pulled everything—jacket, waistcoat, shirt—over his head. His pants vanished, even though he still had on his boots. “Is this what you wanted, sir?”

“I wanted you to saddle my damned horse, is what I wanted,” Arnold snapped from behind him.

Ben spun around, his boots so slick on the wood floor, he nearly lost his balance. Arnold leaned in the corner on the opposite side of the room from Washington at his window. His arms were crossed over his chest and his frown was as profound as Ben had ever seen it. The splint for his leg was still on over his uniform pants, but he seemed to have no trouble standing.

“I... I’m sorry, sir, but General Washington wants me to suck his cock now.”

“Benjamin,” Washington said in grave tones. “Language.”

“My apologies, sir. Can you please tell General Arnold I will saddle his horse as soon as you and I are done here?”

“Tell him yourself, Benjamin. You are a grown man, and you do not need your father to speak to others on your behalf.”

Ben shivered, sure a draft must be getting in from somewhere, even though there was no door in the room and the window was shut tight. “General Arnold, I’m sorry, but—”

“Don’t give me that nonsense, boy.” Arnold stomped over to Ben, reaching down to squeeze Ben’s swollen cock. “You can either serve me or Washington. You can’t serve both.” Arnold begin stroking Ben impossibly hard, yet it felt so good, and he wanted more. “So, who are you going to serve?”

Ben moaned, but before he could answer, Washington pressed himself flush against Ben’s back. “I’m not your father. Don’t forget.” He pushed a finger inside Ben.

“I haven’t forgotten,” Ben said, leaning his head back on Washington’s shoulder. “But what does that mean now? What should I do?”

“It means I can’t make up your mind for you, Benjamin.” Washington was so close, his breath fluttered the loose hairs against Ben’s neck. “So, what will it be?”

“His friend or mine?” Arnold hissed, pulling so hard on Ben’s cock, he really thought it might come off. “Answer, major, or it will be neither.”

Ben gasped and his whole body was shaking. But thank God, his eyes opened, and he could see the dim outline of his table against the white fabric of his tent. It was only a dream. Yet such a dream! He couldn’t put off speaking to Washington a day longer. As soon as the sun rose, he would let Washington know he needed to speak with him urgently.

***

Ben had been forced to wait the entire day, only managing to wrangle an audience with Washington in the evening as the sun went down. And as he was shown into the office, Washington didn’t even bother looking up at him. “I’ve very little time, Major Tallmadge. If you could be brief.”

Ben stood straighter than he had been, stopping just inside the door. He had hoped his news about Abe’s man in York City would have yielded better results, yet Washington remained distant. It was nearly as bad as Washington’s flashes of temper. Perhaps now was not the best time to reveal Arnold’s offer, and certainly not to ask what he should do about it. But his dream flashed through his mind, and if indecision led to such thoughts, he needed to be done with them as soon as possible.

“I wanted to speak with you about a conversation I had with General Arnold, sir.”

Washington harrumphed. “I suppose you’re going to tell me _he’s_ spoken out against me now?”

“No, sir,” Ben answered, knowing that Arnold’s worries about Washington not knowing friend from foe was not a topic Ben wished to share with Washington at this time.

“I really do not have the time for this now, Major. Can this wait until tomorrow?”

“It will truly only take a moment, sir.”

The General rose from his desk, glared at Ben, and went to the small mirror hanging behind. He began straightening his already flawlessly tied cravat. “I have some where to be, Major. If you return in the morning—“

“Mind if I come in?” General Lee said as he pushed Ben aside. “I saw you lights still burning and thought to walk in with you to supper.”

“Indeed,” Washington said, sparing only the most cursory glance at Ben before tugging his jacket perfectly even. “I will see you tomorrow, Major Tallmadge.”

As though just realizing Ben stood there, although he had literally run into him entering, General Lee suddenly took note of Ben. “Major Tallmadge, why don’t you join us at supper? My man Bradford is away on duty and it will throw off the numbers.”

Ben stole a peek at Washington to see how he reacted to this invitation. As usual, his countenance was as still as one of his portraits. But if he went, he might find an opportunity of speaking to the General, and the conversation might turn out to be genuinely worth hearing. “It would be my honor, sir.” He thought of adding, “Should His Excellency have no objections,” but he desperately feared Washington would do precisely that, and Ben wasn’t going to make it easy for Washington to dismiss him. If Washington did not desire his company at this meal he would have to say so himself.

But Washington only said in quiet, gruff tones that could mean nothing or so much, “Shall we?”

Lee turned to the side, and Ben opened the door, and they followed in Washington’s wake. In a few quick steps, Lee pulled even with General Washington, but Ben remained a few paces behind. He did not care to insert himself any further into the evening until Washington, hopefully, accustomed himself to the idea of having Ben there, even though he so clearly wished for the opposite. When Ben remembered how the General had looked at him when he promoted him Major or just before he had kissed him for the first time, Ben felt his heart bruise. He had been so lucky, and now he only found himself in Washington’s company because that sod for brains Bradford couldn’t make it to dinner, and Ben happened to be standing in the right place.

They entered the main hallway, and everyone bowed or nodded as they muttered “Your Excellency” as they walked by. Soon they reached the dining room where Billy Lee waited to greet them. Ben nodded to Billy as he walked in, and Ben wondered if the surprised look on Billy’s face was due to the fact he had been expecting Bradford, or that Ben had the temerity to come to dinner when he had Washington’s displeasure. He decided it was not worth thinking about.

Being there in place of Bradford, Ben did not merit the seat next to Washington he had been fortunate enough to occupy the last time he attended an officers’ dinner. Instead, he was about halfway down the table next to General Lee, the least natural position Ben had ever found himself in. But he told himself to make the most of it, reminding himself that this afforded him an excellent vantage for listening to what passed between Generals Lee and Gates.

The meal was served shortly after they sat, the cooks in camp well knowing Washington’s punctuality. All went smoothly if not with complete ease as they ate, but as the plates were being cleared, and many men, including Lee, were diving into their fourth and fifth glasses of Madeira, the conversation turned in a manner to draw Ben’s full attention. At first it was just Lee talking to Gates, but in their inebriation, their voices grew louder than Ben believe they intended, and soon the entire table, Washington among them, focused on what the two generals had to say.

“I tell you, he loves money above everything, country included!” said Lee.

In his soft voice, as though he refused to raise it for so insignificant a cause, Washington said, “Of whom do you speak, General Lee?”

“Arnold. Who else?”

General Gates grunted in ascent. “He spends more time petitioning Congress for back pay than ammunition. What does that tell you about his priorities?”

Ben was brimming with rage. The man who had wanted Arnold to turn back at Saratoga, who as far as Ben was concerned was a coward of the first order, accused Arnold of not caring about battle? Perhaps his desire to get reimbursed for his expenses was ill-timed, but Arnold was not the man of means that many generals in the Continental Army were. What Gates and Lee said was totally outrageous—General Arnold had done more for the cause than the two of them combined. Surely, Washington would come to Arnold’s defense.

But he did not. He sat at the head of the table calm and stony, until finally he moved his wineglass to his lips and sipped. When he placed it back down on the table, he turned to the man on his right and asked him what he had thought of the chicken at dinner. Ben had never felt so disappointed in all of his life.

***

After dinner, Ben headed straight for General Arnold’s tent to tell him he would accept the post as his aide-de-camp. And yet, when Arnold said Ben would have to relinquish his role as head of Washington’s intelligence, he balked. Even with Washington’s coldness since his return from Setauket and refusal to defend the loyal Arnold against the duplicitous Gates and Lee, Ben could not cut his ties to Washington. He told himself that it was because he believed in his mission and the spycraft Sackett had taught him, which was true. But he knew those reasons held no weight when compared to what Washington still meant to him personally.

He ended up stumbling from Arnold’s tent, having come to no agreement about becoming Arnold’s aide-de-camp. His first steps led him back toward his own tent, until he realized that this must stop. He had to see Washington and decide everything tonight. This could continue no longer.

He hurried back to headquarters where the bustle had slowed, although servants still cleaned up from dinner. Ben continued past them to Washington’s office where he found a guard posted, meaning the General must be inside. With a deep breath and a quick clearing of his throat, Ben said, “I need to speak with His Excellency.”

                                                                                                                                                                                   

“General Washington hoped to finish some work quickly before bed. I do not think he wishes to be interrupted.”  


“I appreciate that, and I would not ask for a meeting at this hour, were it not important.”

“Let it be on your head,” the guard muttered under his breath as he turned and knocked on the door. He paused, hand now hovering over the knob.

“Come,” Washington said.

The guard opened the door and Ben entered, standing at attention until the door shut behind him. Then he tried to stand straighter, but his heart ached so much, he did not have the energy. Much as before dinner, Washington sat behind his desk, and only glance up for the briefest moment before returning his attention to the papers in front of him.

“You are persistent if nothing else,” Washington said.

Washington’s contempt made Ben contemplate slinking from the office, but he ached from longing and indecision, and he questioned if he could make it through another night if he did not speak to Washington today. He might not be able to heal the rift between them, but if not, he would try to find satisfaction in the fact he made the attempt.

“Sir. Please.”

Washington finally stopped shuffling papers and looked up at Ben. His hard expression softened, and Ben assumed he must look as pathetic as he felt. But if it got him this conversation with Washington, so be it. “What is it, Major?”

“General Arnold has asked me to be his aide-de-camp, sir,” Ben blurted out far less ceremoniously than he had intended.

Washington’s face moved not a fraction, and yet it seemed to sag and lose its color, but that may be a trick of the flickering lamp light. “And how did you answer him?”

“I said I would, but that I intend to continue my special assignment for you, sir. But he said I could not be both soldier and spy, and I would have to choose. With that stipulation, I refused to decide at the moment.”

Washington’s lips parted, but before any words came out, he awkwardly cleared his throat. “And do you wish to be General Arnold’s aide?”

“I wish to serve my country, sir. And if you are no longer pleased with me and my service, I will take the job so that you may be rid of me.”

Ben hadn’t been certain what he would say if Washington asked this very question, and his answer surprised him. What he realized he wanted to say was that he had no interest in serving any general but Washington, even after he refused to defend Arnold. _I want to get down on my hands and knees and beg you to let me stay._ But that hadn’t been his response at all. Instead, he had decided that if Washington wished him gone, he would make it easy for them both. _But please don’t send me away_.

“Rid of you?” Washington paused and stared at Ben, searching for something, but Ben could not guess what. “How do you feel about General Arnold?”

“I admire his fierceness.”

 

Washington came out from behind his desk and slipped into the narrow space between Ben and the front of the desk. “But you said before you wished to help your country. Do you believe putting yourself under the direct command of this fierce man is the best way you might accomplish this goal?”

Ben’s eyes flitted to Washington’s face, but they could not remain there under such a penetrating gaze. “I... I do not know, sir. I,” he paused to clear his throat, but forced himself to continue on. “I know you wish me to take responsibility for myself.” He could not bring himself to repeat Washington accusation that he was not Ben’s father and Ben was not his son, but a quick glance at Washington told Ben the phrase was now running through Washington’s mind as well. “But the fact is there is no one so fit as you to know what is best for the country. I humbly beg your advice, sir. Should I accept General Arnold’s offer or remain in your service?”

Washington leaned forward into the minuscule space between them and whispered, “Which do you want, Benjamin?”

Ben fought to make the sob attempting to escape him sound at the very least like a sigh. He, perhaps, managed to whimper. “To stay with you, sir. I would always choose to stay with you. But I know I’ve angered you, and if there is someone more fit to do my job, then, by all means—”

Washington stopped him with a kiss, just a soft brush of the lips, but it made Ben feel weak and breathless. “We have exchanged some harsh words, but I think it would be a detriment to the country if we allowed them to take you from your post running intelligence.” He kissed Ben again, long and slow, waiting a seeming eternity to send his tongue searching around Ben’s mouth. “And personally, I must say, I would miss you a great deal.”

“I would miss you as well, sir.” Ben gently pressed his closed lips against Washington’s. “But you are certain you wish me to continue as your head of intelligence?”

“I would have no one else.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes us through Season 2 Episode 5, which means the canonical character death of Sackett is included in this chapter. *sniff* Goodbye, Colonial Q. We loved you much.
> 
> Also, this is another chapter folks may prefer to read in private. ;)

The days following the rapprochement in George’s office after the officers’ dinner were a mix of frustration and delight. The bustle of moving camp to Valley Forge for the winter gave them little time together except professionally, and in this capacity, Benjamin remained impossibly pigheaded in his belief that George should publically defend himself and those loyal to him against all attacks. He refused to believe that at times it was far better to allow men the opportunity to talk themselves into a corner. And even if General Lee did not eventually offend the wrong man or reveal himself as disloyal, George needed to handle him in a more subtle way than a court-martial or, Heaven forbid, a duel. And as long as he took no sides in the argument between Gates and Arnold, George was more likely to hear what they both thought. All far more useful than lowering himself into the fray before him.

Privately, George ached for more time with Benjamin, their stolen moments not nearly enough to satisfy either of them. Occasionally, Benjamin would arrive to present a report and because of the nature of the report, they could plausibly have time alone together behind George’s locked office door. But they could only risk passionate kisses and groping through and around hastily opened clothes. Benjamin had become extremely adept at pulling George aside and in five minutes with his dexterous hands, he would have George spending in a handkerchief. It was glorious, but George longed to have Benjamin before him naked, to finally take Benjamin as he longed to. He had hoped the long winter at Valley Forge would see his desires fulfilled, but settling in and building the camp they needed seemed to be taking an eternity. And the war continued on, especially for Benjamin and those in intelligence, whose work did not dependent on the time of year.

Tonight was a perfect example of how Benjamin remained hectic with work, and how they continued to be out of harmony professionally. Benjamin refused to heed George’s counsel about two prisoners who had turned up in camp, one swearing that the British intended to assassinate him, the other swearing the other would concoct any story to infiltrate the camp. While George did not fear death and trusted to Providence, he also had no desire to act in a foolhardy manner. These men must both be questioned and without preconceived notions dictating the interrogations. Benjamin, however, refused to approach the men in this manner.

Perhaps George was also still smarting over Arnold. He knew quite well that he should let it go, but the fact Benjamin had even considered leaving to go work for Arnold hurt more deeply than he had let on. He valued loyalty, and his feelings for Benjamin ran deep through his soul. Now he was plagued with questions about Benjamin’s allegiance. They had quite literally kissed and made up over the Arnold matter, so George knew it only fair to put the incident behind him, and yet, it nagged, and they both still felt the roughness around the edges of their affection, even when Benjamin crawled under his desk or George pushed him up against a wall.

And now he had to wonder if those doubts clouded his judgment in this. Interrogation was Benjamin’s bailiwick, and he should trust to Benjamin’s methods under the guidance of Mr. Sackett. And yet, he could see Benjamin proceeding wrongly. There was more to Shanks than Benjamin cared to admit or investigate. George hated to act in any way that might lead someone to believe he did not trust Benjamin, but he also could not allow this to pass. He must step into the fray, but he would do so as quietly as possible so no one would suspect his faith in his head of intelligence was anything less than absolute.

***

George may have been able to empathize with Benjamin’s stubborn passion before, but after George met with Shanks, he declared Benjamin’s behavior entirely too much. He had just proven to Benjamin that Shanks was a liar and deserter, and yet Benjamin refused to let go of his suspicions of Sutherland! A certain focus and zeal provided the kind of motivation the best officers required to succeed, but George hated watching what was happening to Benjamin now. He was continuing headlong down the wrong path in spite of being shown the truth, and George found himself forced to have Mr. Sackett step in.

If he would not listen to his commander, perhaps Benjamin would listen to his lover. Unable to sleep with this rift between them, George sent for Benjamin. It took him longer to arrive at his tent than if he had been found in his own, but George refused to ask where he had been. No, with the way Benjamin already declined to meet his gaze, George did not wish to push on areas that could be left in peace instead. He offered a smile, not a rebuke.

“Will you sit?” Washington asked, nodding to the chair he had pulled around next to him from the other side of the table.

Benjamin nodded, his body rigid, as though he wished to exhibit his displeasure in any way he might without being explicitly insubordinate. George remained calm, pretending as though he found this behavior entirely normal. Perhaps if Benjamin saw he would not get a rise from him, he would give up this petulant behavior.

“I did not like to go to bed with matters as they are between us,” George said.

“Do you mean the matter of how you do not trust me, sir?” Benjamin stared hard at a point on the other side of the tent, his tone short.

“You were there, Benjamin. You saw Shanks admit to everything of which I accused him.”

“Proving Shanks is a thief and deserter does not prove Sutherland innocent.”

George paused, seeing they were getting nowhere new, just repeating their argument from earlier. “I did not ask you here to dispute this again.”

But before he could continue, Benjamin finally looked at him and said, “Saying that you ‘asked’ me here implies an invitation, not an order. And unlike an order, an invitation is something that may be declined. If that is the case, I would like to leave. Sir.”

“I believed up until this moment an invitation from me is something you would always accept.”

“Things have changed. So, if I may go?”

Benjamin rose, and George jumped up with him. He wanted Benjamin to stay, desperately, but he knew it wouldn’t mean anything if it was because of duty. “You are under no orders.”

“Then I bid you goodnight.”

Benjamin took a step toward the tent flap, and everything George had just been thinking about not forcing him to stay vanished, along with every objection he had ever felt about an excess of passion. He threw himself in Benjamin’s way and grabbed his upper arms tight in his hands. “Do not go.”

“I’ve said everything I wish to say, sir.”

“Then don’t say anything.” George kissed Benjamin so fiercely, he thought they both might break. If he could not tell Benjamin why he cared in words, he would show him with his body. Benjamin must be in no doubt that George wanted him and needed the breach between them bridged.

At first Benjamin stood amazed that George had kissed him thus. Then he opened up and let George in. But a heartbeat later, he pulled away, the fury in his eyes as high-pitched as George had ever seen it.

“This does not change what I think about the prisoners or your lack of faith in me.”

“And my questioning of this one decision you have made does not change my desire to have you in my bed.” George pressed the kiss again and began tearing at the buttons of Benjamin’s uniform. Once more, Benjamin remained neutral for a few agonizing moments while he wrestled with what he should do. To George’s everlasting pleasure, he, too, frantically launched himself at George’s clothes.

Soon they were both bare to the waist as they continued biting and licking as much as kissing one another. Benjamin’s hot skin felt glorious against George’s chest, but he needed so much more tonight. No longer could words or caresses convey the overwhelming fire that burned within George for Benjamin. He set to work on Benjamin’s pants and Benjamin attempted the same in return, but their hands got in each other’s way.

George succeeded first, loosening Benjamin’s pants enough to push them down so that he might reach around and press a finger to Benjamin’s entrance. An angry growl escaped from Benjamin’s throat, and George pushed inside. Even through the furious sucking and wrestling, they continued stripping and George went on opening Benjamin up.

When George needed to push Benjamin further, get more inside him, he realized their boots were what still held them up. With a reluctant snarl, he pulled his finger free and shoved Benjamin toward the narrow bed. “Sit.” With a look of disdain, Benjamin did and pulled off his own boots while George took a bottle of oil from the bottom drawer of the small nightstand next to the bed. By the time he had the lid off, Benjamin was naked. Without bothering to use words to explain himself, George held up a foot to Benjamin, who scowled before complying, removing first one boot and then the other.

George pushed himself between Benjamin’s legs to make it easier for Benjamin to finish taking off his pants. Once he was also naked, he kissed Benjamin again with brief force. “Kneel on the bed.”

Benjamin frowned. “No.”

George’s heart pounded twice as hard as it had been and his breaths were labored. He slammed the jar of oil down on the nightstand. “No?” he growled.

Benjamin stood, their bodies pressed hard together. “Perhaps I don’t want to obey your orders anymore.”

“Oh, but I think you do. I think you long to take orders. Especially from me. I think you have wanted what is about to happened for as long as I have. I think you will do as you are told.”

George knew he could not overpower Benjamin if he truly fought back, and so he felt no hesitation in using what force he might to get Benjamin open and begging on the bed. He grabbed Benjamin’s wrist and twisted it behind his back, pushing him onto the bed. The way Benjamin stumbled and attempted to regain his balance left him on his knees, free hand propping him up at the head of the bed, body sideways to George. In this way, George could hold the hand he already grasped at the small of Benjamin’s back and wrap the other around his throat.

“You will follow my orders for your own good,” George said. He raised Benjamin’s head by pushing up on his throat and he bent forward to whisper, “and for my good as well.” With a final squeeze, he released Benjamin’s throat and left him catching his breath. In the meantime, George picked up the oil.

Reasonably sure Benjamin would not attempt to get away, George let go of the wrist so that he might coat those fingers with oil. Benjamin looked through the loose hairs that had come free from his queue. When he seemed about to speak, perhaps to protest, George pushed into him with two fingers. Benjamin’s moan was loud and primal, and while George trusted his guards not to disturb him, he couldn’t have Benjamin alerting the entire camp to what they were doing. He clasped his hand once more around Benjamin’s throat as he twisted his other fingers inside. “You must learn to be more quiet, Benjamin.”

He moaned softly in return and pushed back hard against George’s fingers. Whatever anger Benjamin had felt when he walked into the tent was now being transferred into pure animal want, and George longed to satisfy it. Working both hands together, George rocked Benjamin back and forth, pushing with the hand on his throat to force him harder onto the fingers inside. His whines of need had George achingly hard and longing to have more than just his fingers inside Benjamin. But as angry as they both were, however aggressively they had pushed and bitten before, George would not hurt Benjamin in this way.

So George worked Benjamin on his two fingers, in and out, twisting, scissoring, until he was certain Benjamin might take a third. Benjamin sobbed with bliss, but even when George moved his hand over his mouth, it sounded desperately loud in the quiet camp. “Shh,” George said with a comforting whisper before he bent over and bit Benjamin’s shoulder. The gasp this elicited was hardly softer than the sob. “You must be more quiet if I am to continue. You do want me to continue? You do desire this, do you not?” George twisted inside him.

Eyes squeezed shut, his whimpering now soft, Benjamin nodded his head. George pushed as violently as he dared, hoping to hurry Benjamin’s preparation if only slightly, so frantic was he to grab Benjamin by his perfect hips and thrust inside him.

“Can you reach the oil?”

Benjamin’s eyes opened and he spotted the oil on the nightstand. With a shaky hand, he managed to pick it up and pass it to George. It was a trick to do left handed, but George poured some into his palm without spilling it everywhere. He put the jar back into Benjamin’s waiting hand and coated his erection with oil.

George pushed his fingers deep into Benjamin one last time and said, “Stick your fist into your mouth if you have to, but do not scream.”

Benjamin reached forward to the edge of the bed to brace himself with his right hand. The left, dutifully curled tight, he pressed to his lips. He was ready.

George pulled his fingers free and slid onto the bed between Benjamin’s legs. Taking just a moment to admire the firm, round behind before him, George smiled down before placing his sticky hands on Benjamin’s hips and pushing forward. He just bumped at the entrance for a moment to let Benjamin know he was there. But then he breached Benjamin’s body, entered him, felt himself buried within him. After all his admonishments to Benjamin, George moaned as he slowly moved deeper.

But he could not, and did not want to, continue this deliberate pace. George had Benjamin, and after all of their flares of temper and disagreements, he needed to connect their bodies with relish. And Benjamin was strong—he would want pressed, to feel George moving with him, at the edge of his limits. Once George had pushed as far inside Benjamin as he could, he began the dance.

In and out, moving his own hips and steering Benjamin with his hands, George attacked with pleasure. The fist in Benjamin’s mouth proved barely sufficient to muffle the cries, and they did nothing to prevent George from hearing what Benjamin enjoyed and he desired more of. And George gave it to him gladly and with force, hitting the special spot within on every thrust. In other circumstances, perhaps, George would be more teasing, drawing the pleasure out more, but not tonight. Tonight, he and Benjamin both teetered on the abyss of frantic. A genuine threat to George’s life, their disagreement, the long strain of this winter of want already pressing down more on them every day. With still so much more winter to come—it all amounted to a ferocious and specific need.

And so Benjamin scarred his hand with his teeth, and George thrust ever harder into him, and soon they were both so near their crisis, nothing could prevent them. George’s rhythm faltered and he sensed he would be sooner, if only by moments than Benjamin. He reached around with his left hand and found Benjamin’s erection. A whimper deep in Benjamin’s throat fought to get past the fist, but he smothered it enough that George pulled again and again until they, together, were spending because of their fire for the other.

The lone arm Benjamin had supporting him finally gave out and he collapsed on the bed. George might have been able to right himself, but he found it infinitely preferable to sink on top of Benjamin. They lay panting, sticky, George already feeling sore from vigor and Benjamin’s teeth, until their sweaty skin began to cool in the chill night air. George shivered and so did Benjamin a moment later. More reluctantly than he had done nearly anything in his life, George rolled off to the sliver of bed next to the tent wall. He petted his hand down Benjamin’s spine and over his beautiful backside.

He contemplated saying something, but he could think of no words. He and Benjamin had been unable to communicate verbally, which is why he had found it necessary to enlist his body. Even as he grew cold, he did not want this to end and he did not wish to speak.

All the while, Benjamin lay on his stomach, his face turned the other direction. That is why it was such a surprise when Benjamin turned to look at George with tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

“My—” George panted out, but stopped himself when he realized, “my boy” might be the wrong thing to say. He cleared his throat. “Benjamin, have I hurt you? I am so sorry.” He sat up. “I have some ointment that may prove soothing.”

“You have not hurt me,” said Benjamin. “At least not in the way you fear.” Benjamin sat up on the edge of the bed and began dressing.

George could only watch, dumbfounded by this display. He was not stupid—he well knew that not even the best sex solved all problems. But he saw now that Benjamin’s tears had not been pain, but anger. George had no doubt some of that anger was aimed directly at him, but he wondered how much Benjamin aimed inwardly. Not that George could do a thing whether it were outward anger or self-loathing. All he might do was move out of Benjamin’s way and allow him to do as he wished.

George’s plan to bring understanding through their bodies had failed.

Benjamin did not bother to perfectly lace and button every article of clothing, so he was rapidly dressed well enough to walk across camp to his own tent. He stood at the side of the bed where George had remained naked, his head bowed, almost peeking over his shoulder at George. “With your permission, I will leave now, sir.”

“You have never required my permission, Benjamin.” George thanked God for getting him through the simple sentence without his voice breaking.

Benjamin lowered his head in what might have been a nod and left.

The chill suddenly hit George with force and goosebumps sprang up all over his body. He curled in on himself as a few tears traced down his cheeks. But he stubbornly wiped them away and forced his body to stretch out. He and Benjamin would fix this eventually. For now, he must dress and sleep.

***

If asked just six hours earlier, George would have said he was certain nothing could be worse than the angry way Benjamin had looked at him after they had made love. How he could have so desperately missed the mark, he did not know. But the tears streaming freely over Benjamin’s flushed cheeks acted as a bayonet straight to George’s heart. Benjamin had grown even more fond of Mr. Sackett than George had, not to mention what Sackett had meant to Benjamin as a mentor. And God! Benjamin must see this as the ultimate professional failure, a failure he might have prevented.

If not for George.

“I was so certain,” George muttered over and over as he stared helplessly at Sackett’s lifeless form. How could this have happened? Sutherland must have picked Shanks in hopes the Colonials would do precisely what George had done—condemned the thief and deserter. It was a brilliant maneuver to gain access to their camp and their most sensitive documents. The plot absolutely smacked of Andre, not that it really mattered who masterminded this infiltration and murder.

Still awash in shock and confusion, George finally looked up at Benjamin. Yes, this must be the worst thing he would ever see. The fury, and it was righteous fury at that, in Benjamin’s previously admiring eyes, tore a hole in George. And he had nothing to say and no way to make it better.

And then, just before Benjamin left, his countenance changed in a way George was certain only he would notice. Something softened to reveal an even deeper agony, and for a moment Benjamin appeared so young and innocent George’s breath caught, and he remembered Nathan Hale and how he had been so eager and full of life the last time George had seen him. Was Benjamin perhaps, also thinking of the friend (and lover), he had lost? Did he blame George for that as well?

George straightened up. Now was not the moment for self-pity. The loss of Sackett would harm them in ways they would never know. The man’s endless inventiveness was now gone from them forever. Benjamin would have to find some way to make intelligence work, or George would be forced to find someone new, which might be for the best. With this on top of what happened last night, George did not see how they could ever work together again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Covers through Season 2 Episode 6.

“Excuse me, sir, but this can’t wait.”

Ben was extremely close to bursting through Washington’s tent flap past the guard outside, regardless of the orders Washington had given. But news of Abe’s arrest and Anna’s letter reporting Hewlett’s capture could not be ignored, no matter how he and Washington felt about each other at the moment. And even if Washington kept him out because he was busy with other work rather than their personal and professional problems, that work wasn’t as important as this.

“It is vital,” Ben yelled over the stubborn guard’s shoulder.

“Come in, Major Tallmadge,” came Washington’s cool tones from inside.

Ben smirked at the guard and entered to find Washington stationed behind his desk overflowing with paper as usual. He handed a stack to one of his aides, who nodded and exited. Now alone, Ben steeled himself to pass along the bad news. But before he could, Washington looked up and pinned him with a glare that forestalled Ben saying anything.

“Mr. Culper has been arrested.”

Ben started, wondering how Washington could possibly know this. Who in camp besides him and Caleb could know? A problem for another time. “Yes, sir. I was just coming to tell you as much, and to give you additional intelligence.”

“Is that so, Major Tallmadge? I am hopeful you mean to include how we are going to handle the disastrous consequences once Mr. Culper confesses to being a spy, which he most surely will under interrogation.”

Ben lowered his eyes to the floor. “He already has, sir, after a fashion.”

Washington’s lips contorted into a sneer. “After what fashion would that be?”

And Ben told Washington everything that had been in Anna’s letter about Abe turning double in order to gain freedom within the city. “Major Hewlett, the commander of the garrison at Setauket, could vouch for him, but he has been captured by some of our men. If we could perhaps release—“

“Ah! Major Hewlett of Setauket! Yes. I wanted to discuss him with you.” Washington rose from his desk, a paper clutched in his hand, and walked over to Ben. He stopped closer than decorum dictated, but with no hint of even the fierce romance he had shown just the night before in this very tent. Ben flushed with the memory, but Washington swiftly brought him back to the present. “This is from one of our regiments stationed near New Haven. They have taken Major Hewlett captive for his crimes. Would you like to read the report?”

Washington held the paper under Ben’s chin in such a way he could not have refused, even if he had felt inclined to do so. The report was grisly—the regiment’s commander had not merely been killed, but a note had been written in his blood, with his tongue nailed to it. Ben felt sick. This was a truly horrific act, and whoever was responsible most certainly deserved the severest punishment. Ben was about to give up all hope for Abe, but then he recalled what he knew of Major Hewlett, who through the battle in Setauket and after had behaved with honor. A man of honor did not use another man’s blood as ink. Hewlett was innocent and must be released in order to save Abe.

“I do not know that we can trust the accuracy of that report, sir.”  
  
“Oh?” Washington questioned with an exaggerated raising of his eyebrows. “You think, perhaps, these soldiers embellished the mutilation of their commander for amusement?”

“No, sir, I do not suggest that at all. Just not all of the facts are available. But Hewlett can save Mr. Culper. The man who forced Mr. Culper to pretend to be a spy for Britain is this very Major Hewlett.”

Washington took a step back, shaking his head. “How long have you known this?”

“I just found out in a letter from 729. She and Culper thought it would be best to keep this knowledge from me, but now that Culper is in prison and Major Hewlett is the only person who might save him, she has confessed.”

Slowly, Washington turned and took a few deliberate steps back toward his desk. When he reached the front of it, he dropped the gruesome report atop it, paused, and turned to face Ben once more. He leaned on the edge, and briefly, Ben remember how not long ago in Morristown Washington had taken up that same posture so that they might kiss. Ben felt an awful tugging at his heart, wishing that he might kiss Washington now, but after Mr. Sackett and now Abe, he couldn’t see a path to doing so, even though in terms of distance they stood but a few feet apart.

“I wish us to be clear, Major Tallmadge,” Washington started in soft, even tones that Ben knew masked fury. “You would like me to free a murderer to save a failed spy? A spy, who you say is a friend, and yet who you cannot control in any meaningful way. This is what you want me to do?”

“Sir, that is the blackest interpretation of events. I am sorry about Culper, but—“

“But nothing!” Washington growled. “You cannot manage the spies under your command who ought to be the most governable, and yet you call yourself my head of intelligence.”

“I am most sorry, sir. But I know we can get Culper back, and I promise you I will—“

This time, Washington cut him off with a wave of his hand. With brisk steps, he walked around to the other side of his desk as he said, “You need make me no promises, Major Tallmadge. You are relieved of your duties as the head of my intelligence. At the start of the new year, I require you to go to Boston and report to me the state of military readiness in the city.”

Ben knew not what to say. He had lost everything he ever had with Washington, professionally and personally. All because Abe was the stupidest bastard he had ever met. Well, this breach wasn’t just because of Abe, and Ben felt compelled to remind Washington of as much. “If Mr. Sackett were still here, he would do everything he could to get Culper back.”

Washington glared for several long seconds, jaw clenched, before saying, “You are dismissed, Major.”

***

Ben continued to fume about Washington’s treatment of him. The General could blame him for Abe’s capture, but Ben knew better. Not that this current failure of the Culper Ring wasn’t a fireable fuck up. If Ben weren’t so worried about saving Abe’s life, even he would admit he wasn’t fit to head General Washington’s intelligence service.  

But Ben knew this had less to do with Abe than it did with Sackett, regardless of the reasoning Washington gave. The General would eventually have to take responsibility for Sackett’s death and admit that Ben had been right about the prisoners if he had to see Ben regularly. _And we can’t have that, can we? His Excellency is always right, and the world must never see him to be in the wrong. That’s what you’ve been trying to preserve so zealously, isn’t it?  And that’s why he’s now sending you away._

The fact was at this moment Ben hated himself, hated Washington, and hated being in this damned camp. His body ached from the previous night. His throat was raw, he had bitten his own hand bloody, his wrist was bruised, and he hurt from what they had done at last. And yet, even with all the anger and pain, it had felt so good. He couldn’t begin to understand why a man would want someone he was furious with to fuck him so violently, and yet, that had been his precise desire, and Washington had known it. It was for the best Washington was sending him away, if only to give Ben time to untangle the perversions of his soul.

But he didn’t think he could wait until the first of the year. He would go mad being here, yet being utterly impotent. _Where is Caleb? I need to talk all of this through with someone. Well, all of the professional issues—not even Caleb can help me with the rest_.

***

“Oh, Tallboy, you really need to learn to relax,” Caleb said, his incessant chatter a habit Ben usually enjoyed, but had begun to grow wearisome on this trip. They had been on the road for more than a day now—more than a day removed from Sackett’s death and more than a day and a night from Ben on all fours for Washington—but it felt like they had gotten nowhere yet. Ben’s mind was muddled and Caleb was probably right—he should relax.

But how was that to be done? Here in the saddle when enemies could be hiding behind the next tree and they were on their way to commit treason. There really couldn’t be any other name for what they were attempting. Without orders, they were going to kidnap a British prisoner from their own men. If Washington had been angry with Ben over Abe’s arrest, he would be apoplectic now about this even if they succeed in freeing Abe. But if there was a better way to save Abe, he didn’t see it. And Ben had to save him—he would have never become Samuel Culper if not for Ben. _You’ll never be able to live with yourself if you don’t save him_.

Yet as Caleb rattled on, Ben drifted in his own thoughts at best only half listening. Washington must have a fair amount of guilt he lived with. He was the commander, after all. He made more decisions that determined life or death than anyone. But sometimes, he seemed so cavalier about life, such as his willingness to sacrifice Abe since he had been caught due to his own mistake. And other times, he took death as close to his heart as though it had been a family member. He had appeared genuinely affected at Sackett’s death, and not merely because it had proven him wrong.

Not that Ben admitted this easily. He was still furious at Washington and blamed his ever-loving stubbornness for Sackett’s death. Still, under the pride and vanity, behind the stoic looks and stony demeanor, Washington was not without compassion. A fire and a warmth existed there, and Ben had been in a position to see it more than most.

The frightened look in Sackett’s eyes as he bled to death in Ben’s arms appeared suddenly in his mind’s eye.

 _No, fuck Washington. He doesn’t care about the men risking their lives to bring him intelligence, and I’m not going to continue caring about him._ “What was that?” Ben asked Caleb.

“I was saying, Setauket boys need to stick together.”

“That is the most sensible thing I’ve heard in a very long time. It’s good to be out of camp with you, Caleb Brewster, you wise, crazy bastard, you.”

“Aw, you don’t need to flatter me, Tallboy. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Of course not. Because we’re from Setauket.”

“Right you are.” Being with Caleb mattered. Saving Abe mattered. What Washington had meant to him personally and professionally did not. What _had_ they meant to each other, anyway? Ben had never fully understood. No, he was saving Abe and the Culper Ring because it was the right thing to do and for his own professional pride. This had nothing to do with proving anything to Washington or getting back into his good graces.

“Oh, there you go again. Drifting off on me,” Caleb laughed.

“Sorry. I promise, my mind is here. Or at least it will be when the time comes. I won’t let you down.”

“Damn right you won’t.”

***

Ben managed to keep going for the rest of the day until they made camp for the night, happily falling on his blanket after dinner and dropping his cloak over himself. Throughout it all Caleb had led the way, literally with the horses, and then picking a campsite, making a fire, and preparing food. Now the moon was high above and Ben could close his eyes and just think.

And of course he thought of Washington. Not how they were going to free Hewlett so he might save Abe, not how he would repair the chain of the Culper Ring, and not how he would explain his absence from camp. No, he thought of Washington and their time together.

Curled up on his side, Ben hesitantly brushed the tips of his fingers across his lips. With his back to Caleb and their fire low, Ben knew he wouldn’t be seen, yet he trembled lest he be discovered. But he felt his lips, slightly moist and parted, his breath escaping at irregular intervals between them. Washington loved his lips, had opened his intentions to Ben by talking about them, brushing his thumb along them.

Ben could still remember Washington pushing his thumb through these panting lips that night back in Morristown. He repeated the gesture now with his own thumb, biting it as he squeezed his eyes shut, hating himself for remembering all of this now. He was still mad at Washington, wasn’t he?

But he also found his mind wandering to an afternoon not long after they reconciled following Arnold’s offer to make him aide-de-camp. They had been in meetings listening to reports most of the day. After a while, Ben started feeling sleepy and bored and mischievous so he had begun exchanging glances with Washington across the table. When no one else was looking, Ben would make his expression more to the point, raising an eyebrow or running his tongue along his bottom lip. Washington hurried the reports as much as he could and still get all of the necessary information. Once the last man left, Washington pushed Ben into the closet and kissed him with a devouring lust. Washington had pulled their pants down and slammed Ben face-first into the wall so that he might rub off against Ben’s ass in a pantomime of what they had finally done just a few nights ago.

Here in the woods, Ben thought he heard something and lay still, pushing memories of Washington as far away as he could. But there seemed to be nothing, and Caleb had not stirred, and Caleb was as alert a man in the wilderness as any Ben had ever known. So, he shifted to a spot with a marginally smaller root under his hip and returned to thoughts of Washington.

Just last week, Washington had followed him to his tent. Without even allowing Ben to turn around, Washington had reached around to undo Ben’s pants. But he hadn’t reached inside to wrap his strong hand around Ben’s cock, but instead to put a hand down the back and probed inside of Ben. When Washington had finally deigned to press Ben’s erection through his pants, Ben had been so near his climax, he spent immediately all over his underclothes.

He imagined he and Washington would go on like this indefinitely. He hadn’t even been willing to give up this hope when Washington had fucked him so brutally. But everything had changed. _Everything, you dumb bastard. Remember—you hate him now. It doesn’t matter how he’s made you feel in the past. That’s over. Over._

“Do you want to talk about it?” Caleb asked.

Ben jumped as though he’d been caught doing something naughty, even though he had been lying perfectly still, his hands tucked innocently under his chin. He turned over onto his other side to face Caleb. “How did you know I wasn’t asleep?”

“You think louder than anyone else I know, Bennyboy. Now tell me your troubles.”

“It’s nothing. We’ll get Hewlett and then Abe, and everything will be fine again.”

“I wasn’t talking about your job, major. I’m talking about what’s really bothering you.”

Ben clenched his jaw, barely whispering out, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh! Of course you don’t know what I mean.” Caleb’s hat bounced off Ben’s shoulder, and he chucked it back at his friend. “I mean Washington, as you well know.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Washington other than the fact that his failure to listen to me got Sackett killed.”

“Oh, so after firing you, he sent you off with a big, wet, sloppy kiss, now did he?”

Ben rolled over onto his back to stare up at the blank sky through the tree limbs. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Ah, so there is something wrong! You do realize saying there’s nothing wrong is far different from saying you don’t want to talk about it.”

Ben didn’t respond, but he could hear Caleb rustling, and a quick peek from the corner of his eye confirmed Caleb had sat up. Ben took a deep breath, knowing this wouldn’t be over anytime soon. “So,” Caleb started once he had settled in, cross-legged on his blanket, “why don’t you tell me what happened between you and Georgie?”

“How about if I don’t, since I’ve already told you that I don’t want to talk about it?”

“You know that isn’t going to work with me, Tallboy. You’re a miserable bastard right now, and I can’t just ignore that because you tell me I should.”

“There’s nothing worth telling.” Ben, of course, knew that was as big of a lie as he had ever told, but what would he say? He couldn’t tell even his oldest friend what he himself did not know, and what had happened between him and Washington made no more sense to him now than it had when they’d left camp. What they had done together their last night and how Ben had felt about it remained a mystery to him. “I wouldn’t even know how to start,” Ben finally settled on. “There was something, but now it’s over.”

“You sure it’s over? Does he feel that way?”

“He sent me away. How much more over could it be?”

“But that’s professional, not personal.”

“And my pain for Sackett is only professional? I’m here with you trying to save Abe and that’s only personal? The personal is the professional and vice versa. And Washington knows that. It’s over, and I’m happy for it.”

Caleb harrumphed. “You’ll forgive me for disagreeing, but I’ve seen you happy, and this ain’t it.”

“Caleb, why do you push?” Ben sat up, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “The fact is, I don’t know that I can forgive him for Sackett. And I don’t know that he can forgive me for what happened with Abe. I don’t see how we can surmount that.”

“Well, maybe I’m wrong, but I remember your dear father having a thing or two to say about forgiveness. Maybe think on that and you’ll find a way.”

“My father?” Ben chuckled. “I thought you slept through all of his sermons.”

“Oh, for sure I did. But he could ramble on over dinner or on a walk in the woods or really anywhere you went with him.”

Ben smiled sadly, flooded with affection for his wonderful father. “He can indeed. Still, I don’t know, Caleb. Things with Washington are different.”

“Well, we’ve still got a thing or two to accomplish before you see him again. Give it some thought and see if you come up with something.”

Ben nodded, even though Caleb probably couldn’t see him in their dwindling fire. “I will. Shall we get some sleep?”

“Absolutely. I just never thought you’d shut up.”

Ben laughed and they both curled up under their cloaks and drifted off to sleep at last.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes the story into Season 2 Episode 9.

George thought he had regained his focus after his bout with melancholia, but occasional moments of confusion plagued him for months after. In these flashes away from what was before him, he always saw Benjamin. That man would haunt him for the remainder of his life if he allowed it. Not that he knew how to stop it, or if he even wished to.

When he found himself alone after these episodes, he would attempt to think logically about the situation and plan what he should do next. He inevitably ended the sessions at the same place—he must name a new head of intelligence. Yet that proved impossible. No matter how often he had told himself his personal relationship with Benjamin had no effect on his running of the army, replacing Benjamin as the head of intelligence would be the same as saying he also no longer wished to have Benjamin in his bed. But the more time that passed without Benjamin only made George realize that was precisely where he longed to have Benjamin.

Why had he been so certain that when he told Benjamin his services were no longer needed, he was also done with Benjamin romantically? But the days wore on and George reconsidered all of his choices regarding Benjamin. He had in his melancholic state decided to spare the life of Major Hewlett in order to save Benjamin’s failed spy, and if he could change his mind in that, what might he be willing to do in order to make Benjamin once more his own?

Their last night together had been a night unlike any George had experienced in a long count of years. When he thought he saw Lawrence in the woods, he had claimed that he had tamed his temper, but his night with Benjamin proved that sometimes the feral side of his nature still lived closer to the surface than he cared to admit even to himself.

He had loved the way Benjamin had made him feel that night and loved the way Benjamin had responded. It was the perfect balance of confrontation and dominance. Even though their anger had been so real, he had believed the experience had been equally pleasurable for Benjamin and had helped them work out some of the frustration plaguing them. But he had been completely wrong. Worse, in his haste brought on by wounded vanity and hurt pride, he had sent Benjamin away. Would he ever have the chance to put things right?

George didn’t even know where Benjamin was. He had left camp at some point, probably soon after George berated him about Culper’s arrest and the Hewlett mess. But the fact was, he could not say for certain, and he was too embarrassed to ask. Surely he would return, though, or at least send word when he reached Boston.

Until he could see Benjamin again, though, he thought it best to keep the intelligence post open. Just in case. He could make do with scouting, since it had not proven a complete failure in the past.

***

“My dear, George, did you hear what I said?”

George tried to smile, and he may have managed a twitch of his lips, but his heart was not in the gesture. “Of course, Gilbert. You wish to coordinate a move to cut off the enemy’s retreat from Philadelphia.”

“So, you hear but you do not answer. Is something troubling your mind?”

“My mind is fine, I thank you my friend.”

“Then let me pour us some more wine while you tell me what is wrong with your heart.”

George looked over to his friend who had already risen from his chair on the other side of the small brazier warming the tent. Gilbert traveled much more splendidly than George, and when he arrived in camp to deliberate strategy, George had happily gone to Gilbert’s tent for the discussion. The wine, not that George was a connoisseur, was also superior to anything he might offer, which was a lack he always felt when entertaining French visitors, especially his good friend.

George took the glass once it was poured for him, had a sip, and resigned himself to answering as honestly as he might dare. “My heart is a bit muddled, but I do not believe even your conversation can untangle it.”

Gilbert sat back down, gracefully crossing his legs and sipping his wine. “I would not be so sure that I cannot help. I am a marvelous listener, and we French are well known for our insights into the human heart.”

With a shake of his head but a genuine smile, George said, “I do not know that seeing the problem will help solve it. I have gotten myself in the painful position of hurting someone I care very deeply for with no possibility of healing the rift.”

“It is not your lovely Martha of whom you speak, I hope?”

“No. Martha, bless her, understands my heart and its…other paths.” He paused, wondering what Gilbert might make of the style of his marriage, but even at this mention of “other paths,” Gilbert’s kind face still appeared sympathetic to his pain, and that gave him courage to continue. “My heart has wandered down one of these paths, and although it started off beautifully, it seems to have led to a precipice. I believe the other person involved has already fallen over it.”

“I am so sorry.” Gilbert reached around the brazier and patted George’s arm. “Might you not throw this person a rope?”

“I cannot even see him when I lean over the side.” George whispered these words into his wine glass, knowing how much he had just revealed to his friend, and prayed that he would still be able to call Gilbert “friend” when he left the tent.

“Poor George, nothing is worse than that. Not even knowing where the beloved is so that you might offer aid. I hope you find him.”

George sagged in relief at the kindness of the words. “You are as good a friend as any man might ask for. The day you set sail for America was one of the most fortunate of my life, even if I did not know it when it happened.”

Gilbert squeezed his arm. “And a most fortunate day for me as well. If I may help in any other way, you must tell me. Never doubt I would do anything for you, my friend.”

George placed his hand over Gilbert’s, still resting on his arm. He cleared his throat and willed his tears not to fall. “I know, my friend. I know.”

***

George left Gilbert’s tent as heartsick as when he had entered, yet feeling slightly easier for having told someone, if only obliquely, about Benjamin. Now he needed to focus on battle and rest, Gilbert’s excellent wine likely to help with the latter if not the former. Tomorrow, he would face the problems of the Army afresh—the order of battle, provisions, the cohesion of the troops (and generals) until battle came. It was still early, and it would take time to move the pieces into place, particularly with the help of their new French allies. Yes, tonight he would sleep and tomorrow he would plan.

“General, so glad I found you.”

The voice came from behind George just as he rounded a corner and could see his own tent. He longed to walk on to the warm, quiet comfort, but Arnold was still having trouble with his leg, and it would be too cruel to continue without stopping. After taking a deep breath, George turned to nod at Arnold, who was moving as swiftly as he could to catch up.

“General Arnold, how are you feeling tonight?”

Arnold hobbled to a stop a foot away. “I feel fine, George,” he hissed. “Which is exactly what I want to talk to you about.”

“We have already discussed this,” George said softly, not wishing to argue with Arnold in the middle of camp. But Arnold looked poised to debate, yet again, what had already been decided, so George said, “Let us go to my tent where we can sit down and have a civilized discussion.”

“I keep telling you—“

“Yes, yes, that you do not need to sit, but I do. Please, come along.”

Doing his utmost to not set too fast a pace or a too condescending one, George led Arnold to his tent, one of the guards lifting the flap to allow them to enter. Several lamps were already lit, and a decanter rested on the table next to his bed. Following two very full glasses with Gilbert, George would much rather forego another, but he must offer some to Arnold, and it having been offered, he could not allow him to drink alone. Thankfully, George was expert at sipping.

“Madeira?”

“Yes, please.”

George peeked over his shoulder at Arnold as he poured. His fist could not have gripped his cane more tightly and his face was well on its way to being as red as the wine. “Benedict,” George said softly, “sit down.”

“I don’t need to.”

“ _I_ need you to,” George said, straightening up to offer Arnold a glass. “You look so uncomfortable

 it gives me pain to look upon you. Sit.”

Arnold snatched the glass from George, sloshed some as he set it on the table next to him none too gently, and plopped himself in a chair. His glare before he took his first sip reminded George of an angry toddler, but George said nothing. He merely poured himself a modest glass and took the chair next to Arnold and waited for him to speak.

“I need you to reconsider sending me to Philadelphia.”

“And I need a man I can trust to run the city. Don’t you see that, Benedict?”

“I see you pulling that worthless bastard, Lee, closer to you every day. You need men you can trust at your side in battle!”

Arnold was not wholly wrong. In an ideal world, George would attack the British surrounded by men upon whom he could count, but if the world were ideal, there would be no war to fight. At least there would not be in his ideal world. “When we meet the British in battle, I will be there. I will have control and be able to witness what the men around me are doing and act upon that information. In Philadelphia, I will be blind. I need eyes I can count on to see for me.”

Arnold took a long, angry drink before responding. “You give no care to what your most loyal, competent men think. You pull Lee to your bosom and send me off to an assignment I do not want.”

“It is not a mere assignment; it is a command. Not a battlefield command, but one of those will surely come. While I wish it could be decisive, the fact is, the battle for which we are preparing will not be the last. Do me this favor and heal, and then be ready when I need you again, my friend.”

“You will drive away all of your friends, George.”

George looked at Arnold perplexed. “I am not driving you or any other friend away. I simply mean to—“

“Where’s Tallmadge?”

“Excuse me?”

Arnold set down his glass and leaned forward to peer directly at George, their faces less than a foot apart. “Where is Tallmadge? Major Tallmadge. The boy you couldn’t do without when I asked for him. Where is he?”

“He is assessing our troops in Boston.”

“Boston!” Arnold snorted. “You sent a natural cavalryman and your head of intelligence to a secure city to assess your strength?” He snorted again and picked up his glass. “You mean you drove him away. I told that boy you no longer knew friend from foe, but he didn’t want to believe, you had him so wrapped up in your persona.” The drink he took from his glass was so swift, George did not have the opportunity to respond before he continued. “That boy would have crawled over broken glass for you, and you didn’t even realize it.” He took another long drink.

“Major Tallmadge is doing his duty, just as I expect you to do yours. In Philadelphia.”

Arnold finished his wine in a gulp and used his cane to push himself up. “And I will do it. I just hope you remember where to find me when Lee bollocks it up again, like we both know he will.”

***

Benjamin had returned to camp. He had entered it less than ten minutes ago, and he had run directly to his tent, presumably to change. But where did Benjamin now fit in? Of course, George had been unable to select a new head of intelligence, relying on scouts and his own wiles based on General Lee’s “intelligence.” So, in theory, he could ask Benjamin to take up his former role as though nothing had changed.

And yet, everything had changed. Benjamin had left camp without a word, as though he no longer owed anything to George, sending only the most cursory (although entirely accurate and professional) reports from Boston. Besides, had he not realized that if given only a small amount of time, they would have worked through their issues? Now, however, he had been gone so long, that rather than encouraging a speedy reconciliation, he had fostered a sore that festered in George.

George could not see him. Certainly not yet. He had no idea what to do with Benjamin, his major or his lover, and he had more pressing matters to deal with. Lee was poised to knife him in the back, and yet, they must face the British in battle soon. Somehow, he needed to defeat the British and rid himself of the troublesome Lee at the same time. If he were to successfully accomplish both feats, he had no energy to spend on the problem of Benjamin.

“Are you ready for the inspection, sir?” Billy Lee asked as he swept through the tent flaps.

George fastened his cloak over his shoulders and observed Billy’s frown. Trusty Billy had fallen for George’s supposedly newfound trust in General Lee. “Good,” George thought. If Billy appeared to believe that George had welcomed General Lee back into the fold, the rest of camp, and the British, would believe it as well. George was counting on it.

“I am. Also, I hear that Major Tallmadge has finally deigned to grace us with his presence once more.”

At this, Billy smiled, and George had to fight not to flinch. “Yes, he did, sir. Would you like me to send for him? It would take just a minute and you wouldn’t be late to the inspection, I’m sure.”

“Under no circumstances do I wish for you to do any such thing,” George snapped. “In point of fact, what I wished to tell you was that if Major Tallmadge requests to see me, the answer is ‘no,’ for I do not desire to see him. Is that clear?”

Billy bowed and nodded his head. “Yes, sir. If that’s really what you want, sir. Although—”

“It is most emphatically what I want. We will speak no more of it. Let us go.”

They departed the tent, Billy falling in behind with the guards who would be escorting them first to the forge and then the stables and warehouses. They had only gone perhaps a dozen steps when someone stopped George. But he did not even hear what this insignificant person, whoever he was, had to say. There was Benjamin, striding toward him with purpose, that familiar fire in his eyes. Whatever he had been doing, he had something he wanted to tell George, but he could not hear it. Not now.

Benjamin looked glorious in his uniform—sharp, his hair neatly tucked away, a rosy glow from expectation and sun coloring his face. George would surely have to speak to him again at some point, but he could not be distracted by that now. Just seeing Benjamin made George’s mind wander to anything but war and the upcoming battle, and he needed to see that their supplies were in readiness. Whatever he and Benjamin might say to each other eventually, it would take time and spiritual energy George simply did not have to spare at the moment.

Feeling his real desires starting to stir in his pants, George stalked off, his cloak swirling around him as he refused to even make eye contact with Benjamin. He had left camp without farewell. There must be some repercussions for that action. Let this be it.

The only problem was that his want continued to grow, and his mind remained fixed on Benjamin. By the time he reached the forge, his erection had become painful and utterly distracting. What could he possibly do? Somehow, he must focus on the matter at hand. If he lost the battle, failed to thwart General Lee, nothing, including Benjamin, would matter in a few days.

George burst into the forge to be greeted by a lone sergeant who jumped up and straightened his jacket as though he knew what he was doing. If he was going to attempt the appearance, George would treat him as though he did know. “Where is everyone? The armor? The blacksmiths?”

“Apologies, Your Excellency. I was asked to tell you that they are taking supplies to the stables, but the armorer will return in fifteen or so minutes to give you a full report.”

“I’ll hear no more.” He turned on one of his guards, and said, “I will rest in the officer’s room. Call me when the armorer has arrived, but do not disturb me until the report can begin.”

George turned on his heel and pushed through to the little room with a narrow cot where the armorer or officer overseeing work at the forge might rest. He went in and shut the door tightly behind him, quietly turning the lock. Once he saw that the oily curtain covering the one small window in the opposite wall was closed, he hurriedly opened his pants.

It took only a moment to free his erection. Having it in his hand, giving it a first tentative squeeze, made him moan, the sense of relief already starting to wash over him. And then he tugged once, after which, he was helpless to stop.

He thought of Benjamin as he had just seen him, fresh and handsome and waiting to be plucked. He thought of Benjamin and the first time he had seen him, nervous, yet beautiful in the candlelight. He thought of Benjamin that night in his room in Morristown and his mouth and how it felt on him. He thought of Benjamin naked and moaning and with his head thrown back in ecstasy as George thrust into him. He thought of never being allowed to touch Benjamin again, and he sobbed as he spent onto the dirty floor. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes through the end of Season 2.

Ben wanted nothing more than to stop and close his eyes for just five seconds and remember how Washington had looked at him on the battlefield when it became clear they had won. In that short glance, Washington passed on congratulations, forgiveness, and God help Ben, love. And he had accepted it all, hoped his own countenance conveyed back what he felt—the desire to come home. _I just want to be able to touch him again. I walked through hell on Earth today, and if necessary I will walk through it and worse again to press my lips to his once more._

But he had to find Bradford first. And then he had to expose whoever else was part of the conspiracy against Washington. Then he would give himself a moment to live in the memory of Washington’s eyes upon him. Ben shook himself. First Bradford. Then daydreams.

***

In the end, Ben and Caleb not only arrested Bradford, but set up a rather nice trap to catch the guard who had been working with him. Throughout the operation, Washington kept his eyes on Ben, listened to all of his explanations, welcomed him back. At least that’s what Ben thought he saw there. The gaze penetrated and Washington’s mouth became less rigid, occasionally hinting at a smile. He seemed impressed with the work Ben and Caleb had done with the help of the intelligence they had gotten from Abe and Culper Jr. At the very least, Ben believed he had been readmitted to Washington’s inner circle professionally. He didn’t know if he dared hope he would be accepted in other ways.

Once the trap Ben and Caleb planned had worked, everyone was dismissed from Washington’s tent but for Ben and Caleb. Ben was reasonably certain that everyone else who needed to report to Washington tonight had already done so. That just meant that Ben had to find some way to get Caleb out of the tent, and then he would be alone with Washington. He feared too much had happened between the two of them to return to the passionate relationship they had experienced before, but Ben realized he must know one way or the other tonight. He could not wait to find out exactly how far their reconciliation went. Caleb, bless him, had to go.

Ben opened his mouth to ask Caleb to leave, but Washington spoke first. “Thank you for your work on this matter, Lieutenant Brewster. You are dismissed.” Washington’s eye barely flickered to Ben’s. “But if you would not mind, on your way out, please inform my servant and guards that Major Tallmadge and I are not to be disturbed under any circumstance. We have many delicate issues to discuss.”

“Of course, Your Excellency. Be happy to.” Caleb gave Washington a half-assed bow and tip of the hat. He winked at Ben.

Flush with excitement, and a bit of embarrassment, Ben watched Caleb depart. When the tent flap fell closed behind him, Ben took a deep breath and every muscle in his body seemed to tighten at once. Slowly, he awkwardly turned his whole body at once to face Washington.

Before he could even exhale, Washington was on him. Washington’s strong fingers clutched the side of Ben’s face, pulling him into a fierce kiss that repeated everything his eyes had spoken on the battlefield. Ben threw his arms around Washington’s back, crushing their bodies together. Washington was even harder than he was. _Thank God. I’m home_.

The kiss lasted so long and yet felt impossibly brief. Ben was panting and overwhelmed, but he had to tell Washington what he was feeling. But, of course, Washington beat him to it again.

“Do you have any idea what you looked like on the battlefield today?” Washington kissed him, mouth wide, slow, and wet. “You were beautiful,” Washington spoke into Ben’s mouth. “So sublime. But every time I saw someone come near you and all the shots being fired, I was desperate with worry.” Washington gave him more soft kisses with a searching tongue. Ben had an overwhelming sensation of melting. “All afternoon and evening, I would see you again in my mind cutting down the enemy from the back of your horse, and I would grow hard all over again.”

Ben gripped him tighter and forced a deeper kiss, from which Washington could not break away or say more. Once Ben had decided what he wanted to say, he broke the kiss and launched in before Washington could preempt him. “I’ve missed you,” he said, but then paused to kiss Washington again swiftly. “You’ve done something to me, and now I don’t know what to do without you.” Another kiss. “Being away from you is impossible.”

Washington now was the one to press the kiss while he ripped open Ben’s pants. Ben trembled with the anticipation of feeling Washington’s fingers curved around his cock, but the touch never came. Washington seem to be working on his own pants, and Ben was happy to let him do so. He would begin at the other end—tearing open first Washington’s cravat and then his own.

The shirt collars and various buttons would have to wait, however. Washington pulled Ben’s cock from his pants, but not so that he might merely touch it. No, Washington had freed his own erection as well, and he now moved closer to Ben so that he might wrap them both together in his mighty hand. Ben gasped, the sensation of his cock against Washington’s too much to bear.

“Oh God, sir. I…” Ben was a stammering mess with no idea of what he was attempting to say, this sensation utterly new and glorious. It was like they might fuck together as one, their pleasure exactly the same. If they could spend together as well... Ben moaned into Washington’s mouth as he collapsed against the sturdy shoulder he had missed so much for balance.

“Yes, Major. You wished to tell me something?”

Washington had stayed so close to their kiss that his lips brushed Ben’s with every word he spoke. Ben wanted to come already. “Your touch,” Ben panted. “Never take it away from me again.”

Washington stopped his mouth with a kiss as he worked them harder in his hand. His stroke became faster, his grip stronger, and Ben sagged against him. They had been so long apart and Ben’s body had longed for Washington before the battle had even begun. And now he was exhausted, yet thrilled from the trials of battle. He felt so alive! And Washington made him happy to be so.

Ben trembled, leaning his forehead against Washington’s while they breathed into the other’s mouth. It wouldn’t be long. Washington pulled and twisted slightly at the apex. “Sir, I’m,” he swallowed, “I’m going to—”

And he did. He squeezed his eyes shut, overwhelmed by his climax, but that was not all. Just as he started to spend, as he felt the first drops on his shirt, Washington groaned low in his throat, and his spend mixed with Ben’s, over his own hand, onto both of their shirts. Washington trembled as well, and Ben wrapped his arms around him, hoping if they were pressed together tightly enough, they might not fall.

After Ben caught his breath, he whispered into Washington’s ear, “Thank you, sir.”

Ben felt Washington smile against his cheek. “You are most welcome, Benjamin. But we have only just started.”

Even in the heat, Ben felt a chill through his body at this idea. To stay with Washington longer, it was his fondest wish. “I am entirely at your disposal, Your Excellency. What would you have me do?”

“I need both of us out of our clothes.” Washington removed the loose cravat still hanging around his neck and used it to wipe his hand clean. “I would not be averse to watching you take off yours, for instance.”

Ben ran his fingers along the row of buttons holding Washington’s waistcoat closed. “Is that really what you would like first, Your Excellency? It is so hot, I’m sure you’re longing to be out of your own uniform.”

Washington hummed against Ben’s throat. “Together then.”

“Always.”

Ben stepped back even though he longed to maintain contact with Washington’s body. But with a little distance, he could appreciate what had quickly become his favorite thing in the world—Washington looking at him. _I would do anything—fight a hundred men crawling on my knees, beg until I was hoarse—to see that look_.

And yet, when they had fought, there had been a thrill to their intimacy Ben hadn’t known was possible. But he couldn’t imagine intentionally angering Washington again to achieve the feeling. Still, he also didn’t think he would ever sufficiently forget the sensation to not long for it again.

Washington dropped his waistcoat atop his jacket already on the ground. “Benjamin? What are you—”

Ben lunged at him, ripping off his own waistcoat, shoving down his pants, but also keeping Washington’s mouth too busy to repeat the question Ben didn’t know how to answer. A problem arose, though, when he had his own and Washington’s clothes as removed as possible without breaking the kiss. _Why do shirts go over heads, and why can’t boots slip off more easily?_

“Benjamin,” Washington panted when the kiss ended and Ben stepped back to whisk his shirt off. “What has gotten into you?”

Ben did not answer, but instead removed Washington’s shirt as well. “Sit and I’ll take off your boots.”

Washington wrapped his fingers around the back of Ben’s head and pulled him forward for a kiss. “Not until you tell me what this is about,” Washington whispered into his mouth.

Ben exhaled audibly and dipped his head down onto Washington’s chest. “I can’t stop thinking about our last time together. What it meant and how it made me feel.”

Washington kissed the top of Ben’s head in a tender gesture, but then he grabbed his queue and used it to pull Ben’s head up. “It was about how much we feel for each other. We will never feel in moderation for one another. As I said our first time, we are an outlet for each other’s passions, _all_ passions. Do you understand?”

Washington sucked at Ben’s exposed neck, making him moan. “I don’t know. I think I do, and yet, I don’t want to fight with you to feel that again.”

Washington pulled harder on his hair, and Ben could feel his cock beginning to stir again. “Then I will have to show you how precisely that works some time,” Washington said, the promise in his voice enough to make Ben wish they were both already naked and that “some time” was now.

“I look forward to that, sir. Should we finish getting out of our clothes now?”

“On the bed with you,” Washington ordered.

Ben followed the command as eagerly as he had ever followed any. Not waiting for Washington, he started pulling off his own boots while the General smiled down at him. As soon as Ben slipped off his pants, socks, and underclothes so as to sit naked before Washington once more, Washington raised his right foot a few inches. Without need to explain, Ben bent over to pull the boot free as Washington balanced with a hand on Ben’s shoulder.

They now moved with the rhythm of old lovers, Washington stripped in moments without a word exchanged, although Ben did stop to kiss Washington’s stomach as well as his sensitive nipples a few times.

“Lie back,” Washington said with a look instead of words.

Voicelessly, Ben answered, “Take any part of me you desire, for I am yours.”

Before settling between Ben’s legs, Washington got his jar of oil. He rested it on the mattress unopened and took Ben’s once more fully erect cock into his mouth. Knowing Washington’s admonition to always remain quiet, Ben bit on the corner of Washington’s pillow, barely able to stifle his moans. Every time together felt better than the last, and lost in the utter pleasure of the moment, Ben bent his knees slightly while letting his legs fall open. When his mind cleared enough for a moment for him to realize how he lay, he saw how obscene his posture was. He did not care. He closed his eyes and focused on the sensation of Washington’s tongue swirling over his head, hoping he might press it into the slit.

At some point while Ben was lost in the bliss of the moment, Washington opened the oil—two slick fingers now pressed at his entrance. It was as though Washington was allowing them to fight over which would get the privilege of going first. Ben didn’t care which finger won; he just desperately wanted one inside him. Seeming to know Ben’s body and desires, just as he reached the moment he thought he might have to beg to be penetrated, Washington slipped a finger inside.

It was almost too much, and Washington must have known. He let Ben’s cock drop from his mouth and licked at it aimlessly while his finger continued to push in and around. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” Washington said in that perfect, soft voice that seemed to seep into Ben’s body through his skin. “And never more so than at this moment. Your skin should always have a slight gleam of sweat, and you ought always to be viewed in candlelight.”

Ben smiled and squirmed a bit when Washington crooked his finger. The idea was, of course, absurd, but he wished he might always be thus for Washington merely because it made him happy. “But you are an example to us all, sir. You’ve the most elegant bearing of any man in America.”

“Mmm. I’d like to believe I’m immune to flattery, but from you, I must succumb to it.” Without another word, Washington swallowed Ben until his cock hit the back of his throat. And the second finger joined the first.

Ben was blinded with pleasure. He could neither see nor think, only feel and want. There had been moments while he was away that he thought he would never have this again, and perhaps that made it sweeter. Perhaps if Washington knew some way they might recreate anger, he would have a trick to approximate longing so they might experience this again without having to suffer a separation.

But soon, Ben had no thought for anything except where his body connected with Washington. A wave of heat passed over him, and he felt his second climax building within him, as inevitable as the tide. Just before it crashed over him, he pressed the pillow to his face, screaming and biting into it, wishing for it to be over, because it was too much, while simultaneously wanting it to go on forever.

Of course, it ended, though, most spectacularly with Washington so expertly swallowing all of his seed. Ben lay there, the pillow still over his face, fighting to breathe, but too spent to move the pillow. He could feel Washington shifting on the bed and Ben thought of pulling him down on top of him, letting their sweat-coated bodies stick together, but he could not yet move. And before he could, something pushed once more at his entrance.

“May I have you tonight, Benjamin?” Washington whispered, his hands stroking Ben’s hips.

Ben tossed the pillow onto the ground, now seeing Washington kneeling between his legs, his cock once again erect and wanting. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

Washington gently smacked Ben’s hip. “I am not that old, Benjamin. And I am so thrilled to have you here, I find myself particularly inspired. But as much as we enjoyed the last time, tonight, I want your explicit permission.”

Ben could not prevent a happy grin. He also felt inspired by being back in Washington’s bed and affections. He sat up, and Washington looked confused as Ben knelt before him on the bed, but Ben kissed him and pushed Washington onto his back. Always quick to understand, Washington grinned and steadied Ben by the hips as he straddle him. “I do want you inside me, Your Excellency, and yet tonight, I want to fuck you. Is that acceptable?”

Washington’s lips parted, but no words, only a gasp passed through them as Ben reached behind himself to steady Washington’s oiled cock as he lowered himself. Ben could only gasp as well. As slowly as he lowered himself, even with only half of Washington’s cock inside him, it felt so deep. His thighs trembled, but he feared being overwhelmed if he worked any faster. Every part of his body felt so on fire, and he wondered if he might somehow spend again—his cock certainly wanted to try once more if it only could.

Finally, Ben settled Washington all of the way inside him. Washington dug his fingertips into the flesh of Ben’s hips, and everything felt so perfect. He hoped Washington’s grip might even leave bruises. Without meaning to, Ben whimpered.

“What are you thinking now?” Washington asked, beginning to slowly move under Ben looking for some thrust and friction.

“How entirely I belong to you. I want to see that I am yours tomorrow when I wake up.”

Washington gripped him even tighter. Through gritted teeth, he said, “You said you wanted to fuck me. Well, get on with it.”

Somehow, the expletive on Washington’s lips inflamed Ben even more. He began slowly, because his body refused any other pace at this moment. But he rocked back and forth, pushing his lips tightly together so that his needy whine did not pass through them. He wished they were in a real bed with a headboard and not an Army cot so that he might have something to grasp. Eventually, he could not help himself and leaned forward to wrap a hand around Washington’s shoulder. As much as Ben wanted to fuck Washington, to lead in some meaningful way, he was so overcome with sensation he could barely think. The best he could do was allow the strong hands on his flanks to guide him.

Ben dropped his head, all of his hair now loose from its queue, some of it hanging free but much sweaty and clinging to his face. He closed his eyes and tried to focus, tried to remember what Washington meant to him and how much he longed to please him. He must push through the fog of his own pleasure and return to Washington a fraction of what he had been given. In this way, he coerced thighs aching from being in the saddle all day to raise and lower his body. He let Washington’s cock threaten to leave his body without ever allowing it to escape, before plunging back down until their bodies touched once more.

“Benjamin,” was all Washington whispered before clutching so tightly Ben nearly called out in pain. And then Washington’s climax hit, and Ben could only pant and twitch and hold Washington’s shoulder more firmly. But he forced his eyes open, and Washington looked back at him, and they could see each other in that moment as they had never seen each other before.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets us through Season 3 Episode 4.

Benjamin. Benjamin! The man had the effrontery to call him “Benjamin.” Who did Arnold think that he was? Certainly not the intimate of a man he had no right to call by his Christian name in front of everyone in camp. Benjamin, indeed! Only George was permitted to call him Benjamin, and only in private, not before the entire world. Arnold frequently acted as the burr in George’s saddle, but he was forgiven for the sake of his courage and the admiration of the men. George, however, questioned if he would be able to stomach many more displays of this sort of forwardness. Benjamin! The nerve.

Arnold should be at his tent any moment now, a private meeting between the two of them long overdue. And George tried to remind himself that however much he might still be fuming over “Benjamin,” Arnold was an old friend and a trusted subordinate commander of which he had far too few. He stopped shuffling papers at random on his desk so that he might listen more closely to the stir just outside his tent. Yes, that was Arnold’s voice. George took a deep breath and stilled himself, giving nothing away of how he felt inside about “Benjamin.”

As he waited while Arnold charmed the guards on duty, George’s thoughts immediate returned to “Benjamin,” and he refused to believe the feeling conjured by Arnold using his name might be called jealousy. The word never crossed his mind, and he plastered a smile on his face as Arnold entered and they shook hands. The concept of jealousy, in fact, remained entirely at bay as he listened to Arnold’s complaints about Congress and what he was owed. Well, the thought may have peeked in around the edges since he did not need to heed Arnold’s rantings closely. He had heard Arnold’s grievances numerous times, and while he was not strictly wrong, he was being impossibly naive and selfish. Arnold complained that he had not been paid, as though anyone had been paid as of late, including average soldiers who did not have even Arnold’s modest means, and certainly not Arnold’s access to willing creditors and a bride-to-be with a generous dowry.

But George had to have Arnold. His other generals lacked Arnold’s fire on the battlefield, and when men haven’t been paid or properly fed or clothed, they need inspiration on the field. And with Lee disgraced, he simply couldn’t afford to throw away able, inspiring commanders. So, he had devised a plan in preparation for this meeting—Arnold should seek a court-martial to address his issues as well as the accusations that threatened to sink his career and tarnish his reputation.

Arnold took some convincing, and when he finally left their meeting, George was not entirely sure he would follow through on the suggestion, but he had tried. What Arnold did at this point was up to him, and George could do no more but politely offer advice. Now if he could only persuade Arnold to leave “Benjamin” alone as well. Perhaps George should speak with Benjamin again and reiterate his caution against being seduced by Arnold’s bravado. George could well see how young men would be enthralled with Arnold; it was, in point of fact, a trait he counted on. He just did not want one of those young men to be his Benjamin. Men like Arnold served their purpose. George needed to let Benjamin know he had a higher purpose, though.

***

For days, George had been too busy to speak with Benjamin. Well, they had somehow found themselves alone the day before at the forge which gave Valley Forge its name, but Benjamin had so hastily dropped to his knees and taken out George’s erection, there had not been time to discuss Arnold, what with Benjamin’s rosy lips wrapped so beautifully around him. But now George knew they must speak of Arnold, and he had Benjamin summoned to his tent.

“Send for Major Tallmadge,” he called out to his guards.

“Yes, sir,” one of them answered.

And now George just had to wait. He would be here momentarily, and he could touch Benjamin. During the day when all of the camp stirred and knew the commander was awake and available in his tent, he and Benjamin exercised caution, with the exception of the forge yesterday, but that could not be repeated. But simply because George would not strip him naked, press Benjamin’s mouth to his body, make love with him, and grow sticky with him, that did not mean he could not risk brushing his fingers across Benjamin’s freshly shaven cheek.

“You sent for me, General,” Benjamin said, ducking through the tent flap. George took a step toward him, but stopped when Benjamin held the flap open. “I hope you don’t mind, sir, but I brought Lieutenant Brewster with me. We have vital news that cannot wait.”

George sighed inwardly, but stood before the ragged and silly (but remarkably competent) Lieutenant Brewster and Benjamin. Jealousy about Arnold and intimate gestures could wait. He would hear this report and then beg Benjamin to stay behind for a moment.

But the report ended up pushing Arnold entirely from his mind. The Reverend was a spy. It took George a heartbeat or two for the news to settle in, but when it did, he knew he must act swiftly and decisively to put an end to this evil in his camp. Assassination went against his nature as a gentleman, but he saw no alternative. The man could not be permitted to remain in camp, nor to leave it and pass on information. Arresting and trying him would bring embarrassment on this Army and risked exposing their own methods of gathering intelligence. No, he had to die, preferably discreetly, and George could only trust one person to carry it out.

Benjamin, of course, saw the situation with the same clear rationality and offered before George had to suggest it. He hated to give the order, and for what it was worth, Lieutenant Brewster seemed to dislike the plan, but it was the only way. He had to issue the order to Benjamin to take another man’s life, a minister’s life at that. But Benjamin knew what must be sacrificed for the cause.

***

In the hours following, George watched the Reverend’s movements as closely as he might without arousing suspicion. Nothing struck him as amiss until Billy told him the following morning in an entirely casual way that service that morning had been especially early, as the Reverend was heading out of camp for a few days. With all the decorum he could muster, George sat patiently as Billy helped him ready for the day, but before anyone might be shown into his tent, George set off at as brisk a walk as he dared for Benjamin’s tent.

“Benjamin,” he said at the entrance to the tent and immediately went in without waiting for a response.

Benjamin stood before him in impeccable civilian dress. He really was remarkably handsome and his clothes fitted him well, although they were a few years out of fashion. Then again, when would he have had the time to buy new? George straightened himself up and cleared his throat in an attempt to make his mind focus.

“Sir, I need to leave immediately. The Reverend has made an excuse about going to visit his home church, but I know he’s off to meet a contact. I must be after him.”

“I know.” George took the final few steps to close the distance between them, cupped Benjamin’s face in his hands, and kissed him.

Without hesitation, Benjamin wrapped his arms around George’s waist and returned the kiss. But Benjamin did not seem to entirely understand why George was there. Benjamin was merely kissing George goodbye, whereas George had taken in Benjamin’s dress and terror had seized his heart. This was not simply taking on some assignment, but going beyond Colonial lines out of uniform. If anything, _anything_ , went wrong, it would mean death for Benjamin, and an ignominious one at that. Yet, Benjamin must surely have realized that when he had volunteered. It was how Benjamin had lost Nathan, which had also been on George’s orders. Was Benjamin thinking about that now? Did he fear that same death?

Benjamin broke the kiss. When he pulled back, slightly breathless, to look at George, his expression was puzzled. “Is everything alright, sir?”

“Promise you will be careful.”

“Of course.”

“Don’t say ‘Of course’ as though you always show caution, because you typically exhibit anything but.”

“This time, I will. I swear it to you.”

George glanced down at the close-fitting brown waistcoat, and he longed to rip it from Benjamin’s body for so many reasons. “You know what will happen to you dressed like this if you are caught.”

Benjamin stiffened as though this was a parade ground and he was on inspection. “Yes, sir. I am not afraid.”

“But you _should_ be. Let that fear keep you cautious and alert.” George kissed him hard and awkwardly. “You don’t have to go. We can find another way.”

“No, we can’t. He’s likely on his way out of camp now. If he reaches his contact before I can kill him, who knows what confessions of loyal men you and I have sworn to protect will lead to those very same men getting killed?” It was Benjamin’s turn to kiss George, but he was gentle and sweet, his lips barely brushing George’s. “I have to do this. And believe me when I say I will be careful, if for no other reason than because you know I will do nothing that will prevent my return to you.”

George pressed his lips once more to Benjamin’s, slow and soft in an ever-deepening kiss that eventually led to open mouths and searching tongues. Gripping Benjamin in a fierce embrace, George breathed his final words into Benjamin’s mouth. “Go then. Come back soon.”

***

Days went by. Days in which George fought back screaming fits and tears and nausea, wondering where Benjamin might be. If he had simply followed the Reverend from camp, waited an appropriate amount of time, killed him, and returned with no impediments, he could have been back within hours. But it had been days. Days followed by sleepless nights in which George took himself in hand and squeezed so hard that he felt as much pain as pleasure. Days that he did not know if he would see Benjamin again. Days he spent praying to God to not visit his sins upon Benjamin. And so when Billy entered his tent unbidden, George could not have been less inclined for company.

“General, sir,” Billy Lee said excitedly, wanting to continue, but George stopped him.

“Not now, Billy.”

“But, sir—”

“I said not now.”

“Major Tallmadge has returned.”

George jerked his head up from where he hunched over his desk. He could feel his jaw drop and his limbs quake, but he sat powerless to appear anything other than amazed at the news. Thank God only Billy was there to see him. Clearing his throat, and attempting to compose himself, George asked, “How does he fair?”

“Honestly, sir, he looks rough.” Billy tried to explain further, but George was already past him and out of the tent.

He spotted Benjamin immediately—high above the others in camp surrounding him on horseback. George could not tell if this odd procession was headed for Benjamin’s tent, the stables, or possibly some other location in camp. The one destination certainly not being attempted was the hospital, located in a cabin behind Benjamin. And he looked so pale, and he slumped low in the saddle, wearing clothes that were not his own, after suffering God only knew what. George marched through the crowd directly up to Benjamin and his mount. Benjamin pulled the horse to a stop and nodded.

“Welcome back, Major Tallmadge. I regret to say you do not appear to be in equal health as when you left.”

Benjamin gave a half-hearted chuckle. “I am equally regretful to say that is accurate, sir. But I assure you, I shall be fine.”

George ground his teeth and fought back an oath. He took the horse by the bridle and gently turned the animal around. “The doctor will determine that.”

“Sir, I do not need to see a doctor. Certainly not at the hospital. My wound has been tended and it is healing.”

George never stopped leading the horse, which he noted was not the horse Benjamin rode out of camp upon, toward the hospital. As he walked, he hissed over his shoulder, “You _will_ be examined, and I _will_ hear no other arguments on the subject. Am I making myself clear to you, Major?”

“Yes, sir,” Benjamin answered softly, slumping evermore in the saddle, the strong cavalryman vanished. George prayed that would prove temporary.

At the hospital, George gave the bridle to a soldier standing near the door, who may or may not be stationed there. Another nearby soldier, who clearly did work at the hospital, started for the horse to help Benjamin dismount, but George cut him off. “Please inform the doctor on duty that Major Tallmadge must be examined immediately.”

“Yes, Your Excellency. I’ll just help the Major down.”

“Immediately.”

The man nodded and scurried inside the cabin. George went to the side of the horse and patted Benjamin’s thigh in a way that merely appeared supportive to any onlookers, although it meant worlds more to him to finally touch Benjamin again. “Let me help you down.”

Benjamin looked around confused, as though he would prefer to kick the horse and ride off in a panic rather than allow George to help. “I…I’m sure I can manage on my own.” Benjamin was staring at George’s fingers spread over his thigh and George found himself desperately wondering when he might get them inside Benjamin again.

“It would be my pleasure to help you. I’ve been ill and injured before and struggled in and out of the saddle. There is no shame in accepting a bit of assistance.”

Benjamin, who George did not think had once looked him in the eye, turned his blushing face further away. “If you are insistent, sir, then may I ask you to help me off the other side? My injury is on this one and I think it would be easier.”

“Say no more,” George said, hurrying around to the other side. He placed one of Benjamin’s hands on his shoulder and settled one of his own on Benjamin’s hip. “Whenever you are ready.”

He was clearly stiff and sore, but Benjamin managed to swing himself out of the saddle with very little help from George other than to offer him balance. When he had both feet on the ground, Benjamin still had his arm around George’s shoulders, and George’s hand slid entirely around Benjamin’s waist. In spite of how exposed they were, George had no desire to relinquish his grasp.

But as soon as Benjamin made eye contact, he blushed again and dropped his arm, leaving George no option but to do the same. “Thank you, sir. I believe I am fine now to make my way into see the doctor. You will have my report as soon as I finish.” He took a wobbly step toward the door, and George had to shoot out a hand to steady him. All of the color from his earlier blushes vanished under the sickly pallor of intense pain.

“I think because it would behoove you to have assistance getting to your examination, I shall take you and then hear your report once the doctor has declared you fit.”

“You must have more pressing matters, sir.” Benjamin said as George wrapped an arm tightly around his middle and they started together for the door.

“Your report is one I have been awaiting rather anxiously, so I am happy to be here.”

At that, Benjamin stopped arguing and allowed George to lead them inside. The man George had sent ahead reappeared with a smile. “Doctor Stewart will be here in a moment.” Taking all of Benjamin’s weight in a swift and practiced move George could do nothing to fight, he helped Benjamin into a small room, just to the left of the entrance. “Have a seat, Major,” he said, lowering Benjamin into a wide chair with no arms. “Let us get you ready for the doctor.”

The man turned to close the door but the fact George stood in the frame brought him up short. “I am very eager to know the state of the Major’s health,” George said.

“Of course, Your Excellency,” the man bowed awkwardly, but continued on like a man practiced at telling people what they must do, rank and station be damned. “I will come to your tent personally to give you a full report on the major’s health the moment Dr. Stewart is finished.”

“Or I shall wait here in the hallway, and the second Dr. Stewart finishes his swift, yet thorough examination, he will tell me himself, and then I can meet with the Major here, if the room is not needed for any other purpose.”

“Of course, Your Excellency.” The voice came from behind George. He turned to the side so that he might greet Dr. Stewart and allow him to pass.

“Thank you,” George nodded as he moved out of the doorway so that it might be shut. And just before it closed completely, through the last crack, he saw Benjamin’s pale, anxious face, looking at him.

***

George took a deep, calming breath before he opened the door to join Benjamin alone. Dr. Stewart had told him Benjamin had been shot in the abdomen, but that the bullet had been removed and the wound sewn crudely, but effectively, shut. “If it were going to show signs of infection that likely would have happened by now.” He had other scrapes and bruises and needed rest, but he would fully recover.

George entered the room to find Benjamin staring out of a narrow window as he finished tucking his plain shirt into warm pants. The door shut behind him with the promise from the hospital staff they would not be interrupted. George nearly ran to embrace Benjamin, but the window was an enemy to their privacy. “Come away from the window.”

Benjamin moved with a stiffness George did not believe could be entirely attributed to being shot. Waiting in the hall, George had been thinking about Benjamin’s stiffness, and he had attempted to attribute it to the openness in camp and the eyes upon them. But now he saw that Benjamin held back from him purposefully. It upset him as much as Benjamin’s physical injuries. When he only shuffled a few steps nearer, still hesitant, George sighed.

“What happened, Benjamin?”

“The Reverend is dead, but I was briefly captured by Gamble, the man we knew as Sutherland, who killed Sackett.” Benjamin paused to catch his breath, a hand pressing at the wound on his side. “I escaped, but he shot me. I was found and aided, and now I am back.”

“Benjamin, for God’s sake, take a seat.” George rushed to him and helped Benjamin back to the examining chair. George judged they were far enough from the window now to risk a kiss to Benjamin’s temple. But Benjamin stiffened under George’s affection. George brushed his fingertips along Benjamin’s cheek, pushing his thumb against Benjamin’s lower lip as he forced the beautiful face up to his own. “What else happened, Benjamin? Tell me everything.”

“Nothing, sir,” Benjamin said.

“‘Nothing, sir’? That’s what you have to say to me after you have been gone for so long and then return wounded and cold?”

“That truly is all that is worth reporting, sir.”

George pulled down on Benjamin’s lip, but when that produced no effect, he pulled away with a growl. “Never before have I found your formality so utterly confounding! Do you call me ‘sir’ and give me direct, simple answers because you believe it’s your duty, or because you wish to distance yourself from me personally and from our relationship?”

“I am just very tired, sir.”

George wanted to embrace him or shake him or do anything he might to provoke a response. He would not demean himself by exhibiting temper, however. Something had happened to Benjamin that struck at his soul, and he did not wish to discuss it. At least he would not talk about it with George. Perhaps time and healing would bring him around and cause him to open up. If that did not provide the needed balm…?

George stepped back over to Benjamin’s side. Once more he cupped Benjamin’s cheek, but this time as softly as he might. He bent down and pressed his lips to the top of Benjamin’s head, closing his eyes and tensing, hoping that he could will the love from his body directly into Benjamin. “Dr. Stewart says you must rest for at least a week. Please get better. I need you.”

George thought he heard Benjamin gasp, which might have been a sign of pain or a sob or any of a million other things. George could not bring himself to look at Benjamin to find out which, though, and then Benjamin gave him no chance, rising from the chair and heading swiftly as he might for the exit. The door clicking close behind Benjamin made George want to weep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes through Season 3 Episode 6.

Ben had never been so uncomfortable in his life. The distance from camp to Philadelphia was not long, and yet he felt as though he had been in this carriage for weeks. The surprise of the situation had done nothing to help matters. Washington always rode on horseback, so Ben had assumed when the trip was announced, Washington would ride as usual and leave Ben at Middlebrook. But not only was he asked to accompany Washington, but to ride in his carriage. All in spite of Ben’s careful efforts to avoid Washington since his return from his botched mission and Washington still being furious at the failure of the Culper Ring to stop Andre’s counterfeiting scheme that necessitate this trip in the first place.

They spent the first part of the journey discussing reports, the ostensible reason Washington had given for them taking a carriage together. When they could focus on work, their proximity was tolerable. But then they had stopped briefly to change horses and a messenger met them to deliver an invitation to them both from Arnold for a party he was giving in Washington’s honor that evening. So now not only did they still have to finish the journey to Philadelphia, their work already accomplished, but with the prospect of a party at the end of it. Hopefully, Ben would be able to hide in a corner for some respite.

“Are you comfortable, Benjamin?” Washington asked as though they could make pointless small talk.

 _Not even close. But I can’t say that, can I? Because then I will have to admit to what happened with Sarah and you will never want to see me again_.

“I’m fine, sir.”

Washington sighed and leaned back beside Ben on the seat. “If you are not, you must tell me.”

Washington rested one of his glorious, strong hands on Ben’s thigh, but there was no way for Ben to say nothing made him less comfortable. Of course, Ben underestimated the situation, as had apparently become his habit. He found it infinitely more uncomfortable when those fingers began tracing up and down the inside of his leg.

“Do you think you are feeling up to a little pleasure on our trip?” Washington slipped his hand all the way up, cupping Ben’s already stiffening cock and helping it along that path.

“Sir,” Ben hissed out, but he lost track of his objection when Washington squeezed. Ben’s eyes fluttered shut, and he did not know that Washington was leaning over to kiss him until their lips met. The corner he literally found himself in left Ben with nowhere to retreat. He wanted to push Washington away or even jump from the carriage, but he felt weak and helpless to do anything other than part his lips and allow Washington inside.

As he always did, Washington capitalized on this opening to deepen their kiss and set to work on Ben’s pants. Once more, Ben longed to protest, but his complaint turned into a wordless moan. _How can you do this to him? You get captured and shot, and then to top it all off, you sleep with someone else. You don’t deserve his love or respect. If you were any kind of man you would confess now and suffer what punishment he sees fit, even if that sentence is to never be touched by him again_.

But that was the moment Washington freed his erection, and the feeling of Washington’s calloused thumb smearing precum across the head of his cock drove every resolution Ben might have made far from his mind.

“Sir,” Ben said again, but this time it was a moan of pleasure lightly breathed into Washington’s mouth. In return, Washington began to stroke him, and Ben slumped against his shoulder.

“I’ve missed you, Benjamin.” Washington brushed his lips across Ben’s forehead. “I’ve missed the feel of you in my hand.” He squeezed harder to emphasize the point. “I’ve missed your mouth,” he whispered.

Ben had to grant this implied request, shifting so he could get his lips on Washington’s neck. He kissed and licked from the edge of the cravat up to just below his ear, where he sucked as hard as he dared, knowing he could not leave a mark there. But Washington’s breathing quickened, and Ben wanted to keep going to give him more pleasure. He hastily untied the cravat so that he might suck and bite as forcefully as he desired, knowing the signs of his lust would be covered.

The harder Ben sucked, the harder Washington pulled. In almost no time, they were both panting and Ben for his part felt lost in the moment. He yanked the neck of Washington’s shirt open so he might push his hand inside. Washington’s skin felt familiar on his fingers, and he wondered how he’d gone so long without it. Another shift, and he reached Washington’s nipple, and simply brushing across it drew a deep growl from Washington, who now worked Ben’s cock furiously, bordering on too much but never crossing that line.

Ben sucked Washington’s earlobe between his teeth just as the rest of his body began to tremble. His climax was near, and he clung to Washington’s body, desperately wishing they were naked and might be skin-to-skin. Washington’s hand vanished for the merest moment, and Ben gasped, wanting to protest, but then it was back, a slightly different sensation to it. He paid it no mind though, the focus of his entire world the rise of his passion nearing the surface, getting closer and closer….

He groaned into Washington’s neck as he spent, holding him tighter. For that moment, he felt perfectly safe and sated. But it was only a moment. He would never be entirely safe with the secret he was keeping from Washington, and once he told Washington, he would likely become completely untethered from this sanctuary. His gasps threatened to turn into sobs, so he forced his mouth away from the warmth of Washington skin.

It was only now that he realized that Washington had taken out his handkerchief to catch Ben’s spend, a trick Ben had first utilized during their furious gropings between meetings. Washington gently wiped off the tip of Ben’s cock before carefully folding the handkerchief and slipping it back into his pocket. To prevent Washington from doing anything else kind for him, Ben quickly tucked himself away and did up his pants. He stared silently at the closed window while Washington straighten his shirt and retied his cravat.

Washington cleared his throat. “Benjamin, would you be so good as to check my knot?”

Ben could not say no as sorely tempted as he might be, so he turned to face Washington. The questioning frown that greeted him made Ben wish he had never left Middlebrook. But the knot Washington had tied was a bit off center, and Ben could not possibly allow the General to arrive at Arnold’s party looking anything other than perfect, especially since he was the one who had destroyed Billy Lee’s excellent work. Ben did his best with his slightly numb and shaking fingers to repair the damage, but he feared there was nothing he could do to set it right.

“That’s the best I can manage, sir. You’ll probably want Billy to look at it again before we go into the party.”

“I am sure you have done quite admirably,” Washington said. Without warning, he raised his hands to clasp Ben’s as he tried to lower them. “What has _happened_ , Benjamin? I cannot stand to watch and feel you pull away again. You must tell me.”

Ben wanted to yank his hands free, but Washington’s grip had never been so insistent. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to summon the courage to tell Washington everything. But he was a coward. _Still, would you rather push him away and lose him for certain instead of confessing? Because that is where this is headed. You will lose him forever if you don’t act like an honorable man. Of course, that’s the whole problem—I have no honor left_.

Ben opened his eyes, and they were met by such soft and caring eyes, his breath caught from being so overwhelmed. He gently kissed Washington, who loosened his grip enough to stroke the backs of Ben’s hands with his thumbs. When the kiss ended, Ben slumped back and stared at their entwined hands. The thought of never having those hands on him again made him bold.

“More happened on my mission to kill the Reverend than I have told you, sir,” he started. He clenched his jaw and looked Washington in the eye. “I feared your reaction, so I did not wish to tell you, but the guilt of not telling you is perhaps even worse. I thought I could never tell you, but I cannot be with you if you do not know.”

Washington put the slightest encouraging pressure on Ben’s hands. He even added one of his barely perceptible grins. “I think it will be best if you tell me everything that happened. I believe we have already shown a remarkable ability to forgive one another, and if there is anything to forgive, I feel certain my absolution shall be yours.”

“That is very kind of you to say, and we have managed to come through a great deal. And yet, I have a terrible fear this will be different.”

“Have no fear, Benjamin. Your courage is an inspiration.”

“Physical courage, perhaps. If only I most feared being shot rather than losing your affection and respect.”

But before Ben could gather this infamous courage of his, the carriage stopped. They both looked at each other in surprise and only just managed to pull apart before Billy Lee opened the door.

“We’ve arrived, sir.”

***

Arnold’s home was nice, Ben supposed, not that he could concentrate on more than not tripping over his own feet. His mind remained firmly in the carriage, fighting between memories of Washington’s touch and his inability to speak the truth. Of course he would find his courage when it was too late. He wondered if Washington thought his timing intentional, thinking perhaps he had been dragging the confession out in hopes that he would somehow be let off the hook? If he were Washington, Ben didn’t think he would ever trust him again.

All of that must be forgotten now, however. Not only did Ben have an obligation to be properly sociable to show the General’s staff to best advantage, he needed to keep his ears open, no hiding in corners. At a gathering such as this with so many high-ranking officers and politicians, Ben could learn much to Washington’s gain. He had failed in so many ways recently, he longed to do this right.

So he mingled. Well, chatting with Billy Lee wasn’t really mingling, but after, he spoke with Miss Shippen and several congressmen. But he felt as though he was learning nothing that might aid Washington as he made his next impossible decisions. He walked to the end of a long hallway and stared out of the window, trying to gather his wits before heading back into the party to try again.

“I find I can’t manage an entire evening, either, without slipping away for a respite at some point.”

Ben started but turned only slowly, almost certain he knew the voice. He forced a smile to his lips, so that once he finished his pivot, he at least _looked_ like a composed gentleman. “Mrs. Washington. A pleasure to see you here tonight.”

She walked right up beside him and stared out of the window herself at the twinkling lights of Philadelphia. “It’s nice to have the opportunity to see my husband, although I do hate leaving Mount Vernon.” She smiled up at him. “But then again, so does George, and he hasn’t seen home in years.”

“He does speak fondly of Mount Vernon often.” Ben tried to smile back, but he barely knew what pleasantries to say to this kind woman. Mrs. Washington had spent a good deal of time in camp, and yet Ben had usually kept himself so busy he need not see or speak to her. _Or think about her_. What was he supposed to say to her now? “Your husband got me off in the carriage on our way here. He really has the most magnificent hands, don’t you agree?” How Washington reconciled it, Ben did not know.

Mrs. Washington took a half step closer to him so that her skirts now brushed his leg. He wanted to shrink back, but he bumped into some horrid sideboard. “He told me about your wound. He really feels awful, since you got it while off on a special assignment for him. I’m so glad to see you looking well.”

It was not what he had expected her to say at all, and it took him a rather long time to formulate a response. “I’m glad to be well and at his service once more.”

She stifled a guffaw as though he had just said something extremely humorous. Ben thought again about exactly what he just said. He blushed furiously. _She can’t possibly know. But why else laugh? God, I need to get away from her before I die of embarrassment_.

“I should return to the party. See if there is anything the General needs of me.”

Mrs. Washington quite frankly looked him up and down. “You are a good man, Major Tallmadge. I’m glad my husband has you.” She held out her hand, and he had no choice but to rest it on his arm. “As long as we are heading back in together,” she said, taking their first steps toward the company, “could I be so bold as to trouble you for a dance?”

Ben felt himself blushing all the way to the tips of his ears. “It would be no trouble at all.”

She reached over with her free hand and patted him on the arm. “I’m afraid you think it will be, but I assure you, I will do all in my power to make it painless for you. I merely wish to chat a bit longer with you.” They turned and entered the room with the dancing, and it appeared as though a new song was just about to begin. They took their place at the end of the group. “So, tell me all about Setauket.”

***

The next few days were a whirl of activity in which Ben seldom found himself alone with Washington. Washington met with seemingly every member of Congress, singly, in batches, and all at once. He held meetings with old friends and financiers, and in the evenings he dined with the cream of Philadelphia society. Ben attempted to gather what information he might as well as see to supplies for his dragoons.

Throughout this chaos, he also had to concentrate to avoid another tête-à-tête with Mrs. Washington, although she often pinned him with what he could only call a knowing smile. Surely he was wrong about this, because she treated him with unfailing kindness and had from that first moment at Arnold’s, as promised, made their interactions painless. He even grinned at the memory of how carried away he had become when recounting the story of him, Abe, and Caleb sneaking off to see Anna and the other girls at the swimming hole, only to be ambushed by the girls and pushed in wearing their Sunday clothes.

But eventually they departed Philadelphia to return to Middlebrook, and Washington once again insisted on a carriage for the two of them. The excuse was the same—he did not wish to waste the ride when he could be getting reports. Ben, however, braced for a return to their previous conversation. The delay had not provided him with additional courage to tell Washington about Sarah, but he had, at least reached a point of resignation. The only solace he could take was that at least he did not have to ride in the downpour that began as they left the city.

To Ben’s surprise, though, Washington did not immediately pick up where they had left off when the carriage pulled up to Arnold’s home. Instead, he chatted amiably about the people he had seen and his meetings, how the city had changed since his last visit, and other easy and impersonal topics. And the first thing he said that made Ben sit up was actually work related. “Did you happen to speak with General Arnold alone at any point during our stay?”

 _What should I tell him? Arnold had been tense, and who wouldn’t be with a court-martial looming? And yet, Washington should know. Then again, how many of our arguments and misunderstandings have stemmed from my assumption Washington wants to hear the negative way his generals speak of him? On the other hand, Arnold had said much not relating to Washington._ “I did. The night of the party.”

“Did he say anything of interest? How did he strike you?”

“Very on edge, sir. I paid him a simple compliment as my host, and he accused me, more or less, of being one of the people constantly attacking him for wasting money. It was...uncomfortable.”

Washington sighed, saying nothing for a moment while they listened to the rain pelting the carriage. “I hope the court-martial can put an end to all of this for him quickly. I need a general, not an angry man constantly obsessed with his honor in favor of his duty.”

“Sir?” Ben said, shocked at how blunt Washington was being about Arnold.

Washington waved a hand. “Forget I ever said anything. Do you have any ideas on how the British uncovered our financial problems and counterfeited our money?”

“I regret to say, sir, I discovered nothing helpful.”

Washington frowned, but he nodded in resignation as opposed to anger. “Well, it was not a wasted trip. I saw Mrs. Washington, which is always a great pleasure, and she tells me, she is quite favorably impressed with you.”

At this point, Washington shifted on the seat to face Ben and run a hand up the inside of his thigh. Ben swallowed in shock, unable to respond. _His wife is impressed with me? And this makes him amorous? I can’t do this._

Ben shifted pointedly away, drawing one of Washington’s icy frowns. But he could do nothing else. He, also, could say nothing else, so he stared silently at the floor, the splashes of the horses and wheels the only sound.

“Benjamin, I demand to know what has gotten into you.” Washington’s voice was as soft as usual, but the fire in it was enough to start an unholy conflagration.

“I…” _I just don’t know what in the hell to say_. “I do not think I can continue our personal relationship. If you would like me to resign my position as well and serve under some other general, I completely understand.”

“I do _not_ want that. And I do not want to end our relationship. I want—”

The carriage lurched and the horses whinnied with fear and pain. Both of them tumbled to the floor and the carriage came to an abrupt stop. Ben scooted over to Washington and without thought, rested a hand on his shoulder. “Sir, are you alright?”

Washington shrugged Ben’s hand off only a second before the door opened to reveal Billy Lee. “Are you unharmed, sir?”

“Yes,” Washington answered through gritted teeth. Ben’s stomach clenched, hoping the tightened jaw was anger at him and not masked pain. “What has happened?”

“Road is washed away ahead, so we pulled off at this inn. There was a bit of a rut leading up to the front door, but don’t you worry. We’ll get the carriage free, but you and the major ought to head inside and get rooms for the night.”

“Very well,” Washington grumbled, crawling out of the door. Ben followed, nearly knocked off his feet by the lashing wind.

They hurried into the inn where one of the escorts was already explaining their situation to someone behind a counter. The frightened man shook his bald head, red face growing more fiery by the second. Ben hoped the man wasn’t some bloody Tory giving them problems. He really didn’t want another argument—he wanted out of his wet clothes and in a bed where he might forget what he and Washington had said to each other.

“But one group or another—British, Colonials, Skinners, Cowboys—they’ve all come looking for beds, and I tell you, we haven’t got any.”

“Turn someone out of his room,” the escort said. “Don’t you understand who travels with us?”

“Rooms I’ve got. What I’m telling you is I haven’t got _beds_. I don’t know if they’re hauling them back their camps, selling them, or burning them for firewood, but I don’t have a single _bed_ left for visitors.”

“Well, where do you sleep?”

The man gasped. “You wouldn’t take my very own bed, would you? I don’t mind for myself, but my wife needs somewhere decent to lay her head after a long day’s work.”

“What seems to be the problem?” Washington asked the escort in his silkiest voice.

The escort turned and bowed. “Your Excellency, this man says there are no beds in his inn.”

The proprietor stumbled from behind his counter to bow nearly to the floor in front of Washington. “Your Excellency! I had no idea who it was seeking shelter at my humble establishment. We might not have a solitary bed but for the one my missus and I sleep in, but it is yours for tonight.” He bowed, and this time, his hand did sweep the floor.

“Kind sir, I am most grateful for your generosity. I have slept in the most extreme conditions that one may imagine. You’ve no idea, I would guess, of what nights in the snows of the Ohio country are like?”

“I do not, indeed, Your Excellency.”

“What I am saying is that I will be fine in any corner you may stow me. At least in here I may be both warm and dry.”

“Stow…” the proprietor began to say, but he struggled for breath. “In a corner? I would never be able to sleep myself. You must take my bed, sir. It’s a right large bed. Not only do my wife and I sleep there, but back in the day, we’ve even squeezed in our children two at a time until they were grown and left for their own homes.”

“In that case, Major Tallmadge, why do you not share the room with me?” Washington nodded to Ben and continued so quickly that he could not protest. “But first, any meager meal you can put together for us would be most welcome. And I will dry myself by your excellent fire in the meantime.”

“Of course, Your Excellency. Anything you desire.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place after Season 3 Ep 6.

George thought he would have to strip Benjamin himself, the blasted man was being so obstinate about getting out of his wet clothes. Of course, that was precisely what he wanted to do anyway, but he wanted Benjamin to enjoy it. What had gotten into him, George could not fathom, but he would not spend the night in this room with Benjamin without getting a full explanation. But he waited until Benjamin was out of jacket, waistcoat, shirt, no longer wore pants or socks, but only remained in his underclothes, before saying anything about what had happened in the carriage. He assumed Benjamin was too well bred to flee from the room in this state of undress.

“I believe we have ample time to finish our discussion now,” George said, draping his socks over the back of a chair before the fire. “And I would very much like to.”

Benjamin stood in front of the small blaze, lit with a glow on his perfect skin. He had never looked more lovely, and George longed to touch him, but he dare not. Instead, he waited, hoping Benjamin would speak. Yet, when he did, George wished he would stop.

“We have made a mistake,” Benjamin said. “There are rules and conventions that we have not adhered to, and those rules already go against morality, so we should have seen long ago that we were doubly damned. It is best to move on and pretend none of this has ever happened.”

“Benjamin, you wound me, more surely than a musket ball or bayonet. Your words are a blow to my soul. Why do you say this?”

Still staring at the fire, ignoring George, who had taken a step nearer him without even meaning to, Benjamin said, “I already had my doubts before we set out on this journey, but our time in Philadelphia has made me certain of this as I am of anything—whatever we have meant to each other must end.”

“But you will always mean a great deal to me, Benjamin. Your words cannot change that.” George took another step toward Benjamin, reached out a hand and rested it on a smooth shoulder. “You must at least tell me why you have come to this decision. Surely you owe me that much.”

Benjamin took a deep breath, shifting, although George could not tell if he was trying to stand straighter or shake off George’s hand. In either case, George moved closer and tightened his grip. “What decided me is what you said in the carriage about Mrs. Washington.”

George quickly went through in his mind all he had said about Martha since they left Philadelphia. No comment seemed likely to elicit such a declaration as Benjamin had just made. “I do not follow,” George admitted.

Benjamin cleared his throat and did stand decidedly more upright now. “What we have done is something that happens between men sometimes in military camps, as well as other places, as you pointed out our first night together. But it is contained to specific times and places and circumstances. And it is not discussed outside of those boundaries.”

George waited for Benjamin’s speech to continue, but it seemed to have come to an end. “That is typically the accepted way such arrangements work, yes. And yet I fail to see your particular complaint.”

“You told me your wife likes me.” Benjamin finally turned to face George, his face flushed more with emotion than by the fire if George could guess. “Have you discussed me with her? Discussed _us_?”

And now George understood. Benjamin was quite correct that almost no other man in his position would have discussed his male lover with his wife. But what Benjamin had somehow failed to comprehend, which rather surprised George, was that he was not most men, and Martha was by no means a typical wife. “Perhaps we ought to sit. I can pour wine.”

“No. You will answer me.”

The lack of a “sir” at the end, not to mention the tone, shocked George, but he owed Benjamin an answer, just as much as Benjamin must respond to each and every one of George’s inquiries. “My wife has always known about us, just as she has always known about all of my lovers.”

Benjamin staggered back, his jaw quivering. “ _All_ of your lovers? How many dozens would that be now?”

“Benjamin, when I told you that a man did not need to give up the pleasures he may have enjoyed with members of his own sex as a boy, surely you did not believe you were the first man I had taken to my bed?”

The blush on Benjamin’s cheeks bespoke sudden realization. George did not know if the question had just not presented itself before or if Benjamin truly had believed himself the first. George cursed himself, whatever the answer, for not having broached the subject with Benjamin immediately that snowy night in Morristown.

“I really think I must go,” Benjamin said, trying to walk around George to get to his clothes.

George, in the same condition of undress, grabbed Benjamin’s upper arms to stop him, but the momentum brought their bare chests together. George did nothing to change that state of affairs.

“Forgive me for not having this discussion with you long ago. But do not for a moment think that this changes how I feel about you. My feelings, I promise you, are what you have always believed them to be.”

Benjamin turned his face back to the fire, but he did not fight to get away. George could see him thinking, trying to work something out for himself, and he did not wish to interrupt. So he just held him there silently, waiting until Benjamin was ready. “Mrs. Washington doesn’t mind?”

“She knew who I was when she married me. I love her. And before you ask, yes, I make love to her. But she has always known that I desire more. My other desires in no way alter my feelings or commitment to her, which I expect far exceeds that of most husbands. And that is why I have her blessing to do what I must to find contentment. I would never keep any of this from her. I respect her far too much.”

Benjamin nodded, his countenance bespeaking his willingness to accept what George said, even if he could not understand it. But then he bit his lip, and George realized that the gleam in his eyes was not merely a trick of the fire, but an attempt to fight off tears. When he looked directly at George, they threatened to fall any second. “And me? What do you feel for me? Who you never explained any of this to? Who is just another in a long string of men designed to fulfill your needs?”

“Benjamin,” George gasped. “My God, you must know that you are special to me.” But the lost stare in Benjamin’s eyes told George that he did not. “May we please sit? There is still so much remaining to say.” Benjamin allowed George to lead him to the bed, where they both settled on the edge, their feet on the floor. George would have liked to lie down and wrap Benjamin in his arms, but he dare not suggest so much. He satisfied himself with cradling one of Benjamin’s hands in both of his own on his lap. “First of all, there have not been dozens. There have, in fact, been extremely few. I suspect you could say the same.”

“But there have been others besides you,” Benjamin whispered.

“Yes. You and Nathan.”

Benjamin cleared his throat. “There has been another since we met. Someone else.” He paused and tried to steel himself with a deep breath, but all he managed to say was, “The guilt…”

George squeezed his hands. “This is what has been troubling you since your return from your mission when you were shot, is it not?”

Benjamin nodded. “I was wounded and she cared for me. We were both hurt and confused, and we…” Benjamin shrugged rather than finishing the thought.

“You found comfort with each other. It’s an entirely understandable impulse at any time, but in war, it is doubly, even trebly, so.”

 Benjamin faced him. “So, you are not angry?”

George released Benjamin’s hand so that he might brush his fingers across that smooth, pale cheek. It felt so right to touch him like this again, and it made George smile, and he hoped it might soothe Benjamin’s soul. “Not even a little. I am only disappointed in myself that I ever allowed you to believe that I might be.”

After nodding, Benjamin looked away again, and George could feel him slipping from this point of understanding they had just reached. He ran his fingers along the side of Benjamin’s head, tucking a length of hair behind his ear. “Something still troubles you, though.”

“I… I just feel like such a fool.”

“You are as far from a fool as any man I have ever met. Why would you say such a thing?”

“To think that somehow I was special to you. An insignificant man like me and a great man like you.”

George fell on his knees, pushing his way between Benjamin’s legs, and clasped his hands. “You are incredibly special to me. I see that it is hard for you to believe that one person can hold many people special at the same time or even at different times throughout their lives. But I assure you that I do. And even within that capacity, some people become even more exceptionally special. You mean more to me than I have the vocabulary to explain. Whatever else you may think of me and how I feel about you, do not believe that you are anything less than extremely precious to me.”

“But me? All of a sudden tonight, every fear, every doubt I had about myself has resurfaced, and I feel the awkward boy gaping at you as you marched into Morristown headquarters covered in snow, certain I was beneath your notice.”

George reached up and cupped Benjamin’s cheek. “Do you want to know what I thought of you that night?” Benjamin’s “yes” flickered across his face, but he said nothing aloud, so George went on. “I thought Nathan Hale the worst judge of other men I had ever met.” That got Benjamin’s attention fully, and he opened his mouth, clearly on the verge of protest, so George pushed a thumb to his lips and hurried on. “He had told me of his handsome friend from Setauket. What he hadn’t said was that you were a vision. The most lovely man in the new world. Physically, I wanted you the moment you looked up at me with those eyes of yours, your lips damp and slightly parted.” George softly kissed Benjamin. “And when I got to know you, I wanted you, body and soul.”

“You’re too kind,” Benjamin said. “I’m sure there’s nothing half so remarkable about me as you just described.”

“What must I do to make you believe me?” The question was not entirely rhetorical, but in actuality more for himself than Benjamin. With the blessings of Providence an answer came to him. “Make love to me, Benjamin.”

Benjamin looked more stunned at this suggestion than he had at anything else spoken this night. “You would still like to make love with me?”

“More than anything. But I am not sure you entirely take my meaning.” George raised up on his knees from where he leaned back against his heels so that he might look Benjamin directly in the eye. “I want you to have no doubts about what you mean to me and how special our relationship is. So, please, I would like you to make love _to_ me.”

Benjamin’s breaths started to come rapidly, and pressed between his legs, George could feel how the idea stirred him. “Are...are you certain you want me to?”

“Will you cherish being inside me as much as I cherish being inside you?” George let his fingertips brush down Benjamin’s neck, over his collarbone, down the smooth skin of his chest. “If so, the answer is yes. I want it more than anything in the world.”

Benjamin lunged forward, kissing George, and in doing so, took possession of his mouth in a way Benjamin had never done before. George sank against Benjamin, giving himself up utterly to this man he loved. And Benjamin grabbed eagerly at what George offered, as though a part of him had always been waiting for this night.

They wound together, Benjamin’s fingers aggressively searching George’s hair as George’s hands dug into the muscle of Benjamin’s back. Soon they found their way onto the bed, becoming more entangled with each other at every breath. George had to break away momentarily to procure the bottle of oil from his bag, but when he presented it, Benjamin’s face lit up at the same moment it became positively solemn. George rested his hand on Benjamin’s cheek to reassure him, taking it away only so he might slip out of his underclothes and offer himself entirely when he knelt before Benjamin on the bed.

Benjamin shifted himself out of his last bit of clothing as well, and also knelt, facing George. They kissed again, both searching with hands for the other’s most sensitive places, Benjamin rubbing across George’s nipples while he squeezed Benjamin’s firm behind. They were both quickly fully erect and bumping against each other in the most intoxicating manner. Now that they had reached this pitch, they must hurry on or risk the night ending before they did what they most longed for.

Taking back up the oil from the bedside table, Benjamin coated a few of the fingers on his right hand. He kissed George again and pressed close to him before reaching around and tugging one cheek with his left hand to more easily find George’s entrance with the right. He only teased briefly, clearly as eager as George, and in a moment, the first finger breached him.

George moaned into Benjamin’s mouth, his whole body shivering with a sensation he had not felt in years. It was already so staggeringly pleasant he could not understand why he had denied himself this particular pleasure for so long. And then he remembered that in that time, there had been no one he had wanted to touch him this way.

Overwhelmed with lust and affection, he pushed back against Benjamin’s finger, longing for more. Benjamin worked the finger in and out, twisting as he went, but it was not until George whimpered and found himself on the verge of begging that Benjamin deigned to insert a second finger. It pulled more, and there was a twinge of discomfort, but the sensation remained primarily astonishing. Needing yet more, George pushed back on the fingers while also pulling Benjamin close to him in the hopes of finding some friction against Benjamin’s body. Benjamin turned and crooked his fingers at the same moment George’s erection found Benjamin’s hip. He had to swallow a loud groan and he nearly spent.

“Take me, Benjamin. Now. I cannot wait.”

“You’re not ready,” Benjamin whispered into his neck. “I know too well from the way you have treated me, and I intend to give you every bit as much care.”

George panted against Benjamin’s shoulder, almost laughing. “I cannot believe you are going to hold that against me.”

Benjamin worked his fingers slow and deep, using his other hand to tilt George’s chin up to meet his wanton gaze. “Do you know how much I want this? How much I’ve always wanted this, but never even dared to dream it might be possible? You are not going to make me rush this so that it is anything less than perfect for us both.”

George dove in to kiss Benjamin fiercely, but brief. “Of all the moments for you to start contradicting my wishes and dropping the ‘sirs.’”

Benjamin pressed their bodies tighter together and pushed a third finger in. George moaned deep in his throat, and nearly missed Benjamin say, “Perhaps it’s time I started calling you ‘George.’”

But he did hear—Benjamin said his name in his soft, smooth voice, a pleasure he had given up hope of ever attaining. He stifled a passion-drunk whine so that he might answer, “Yes, Benjamin. Call me ‘George’ when you make love to me.”

“On one condition.” He pushed harder, twisted, and did George could not describe exactly what, but a fire burned within George now only Benjamin might control. “Call me ‘Ben.’ It’s what everyone who cares about me calls me.”

“Anything you say, Ben. Just, please.”

“Get the oil.”

George could barely see, all of his senses focused on the fingers inside him. But somehow in his groping, he found the oil, opened it, and rubbed it along Ben’s glorious erection that would soon be buried inside him.

“That’s good,” Ben said. “Any more and I’ll spend before I ever fuck you.”

George gasped as the fingers left him. Unable to think for himself, Ben fortunately turned him around and eased him onto hands and knees. With a gentle touch along George’s back, Ben crawled between his legs. A moment later, George felt Ben at his entrance. Ben hesitated not at all, pushing in slowly and steadily until he could go no farther.

George dropped his head low between his shoulders, clenching his jaws so tight in hopes his cries of pleasure would be heard by no one save Ben. Ben, his beautiful lover who he hoped never to lose, to have in his bed for the rest of his days. Ben, the clever, assured man who George could always rely on. Ben, whom he would cherish forever.

At the beginning, Ben’s thrusts were even and slow, almost tortuous in the way they made George ache, literally and spiritually. But they picked up in speed and became more irregular. Still, they were deep, and when they both shifted, Ben brushed against that spot inside George, and he knew he could spend with only the slightest encouragement. Lovely Ben, thoughtful and tender man, sensed as much, even with the distraction of his own crisis nearing. And he moved a hand that had been guiding George on the hip to grab hold of him.

“George.”

“Ben!”

It was all George managed to say before he found himself spending on the bed while Ben climaxed within him. Both of them shivered and twitched, their bodies reluctant for the moment to end. But as George collapsed on the bed and Ben fell atop of him, he realized that while this specific moment may have ended, the two of them would continue together for a long time to come.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this chapter takes place after S3 Ep 6.

As George slept, Ben quietly crept from the bed. Most of his luggage had been left in the carriage, but he had brought in his folder of letters and intelligence, never trusting them out of his sight unless locked or hidden away. He opened the clasp now as he sat naked before the fire, the chair angled to face the bed so that he might watch George sleep. Smiling, he pulled the one personal item he kept in the folder from its spot at the very back in a pocket that would not fit much of anything else.

The creases of the paper were worn, and soon it would be in multiple pieces. He had read it over and over, taking it from hiding, unfolding it, soaking in every word and the hand it was written in, and then tucking it safely away again for a future time, even though he knew every word by heart. But he had eventually trained himself not to open it endlessly in hopes that less handling would help preserve it. It had been weeks since he had touched it, sometimes just brushing his fingers across the surface enough to bring him comfort, and even longer since he had read it. Tonight, though, he needed to open it and look at the well-known words.

He smoothed the letter open atop the closed folder on his lap. Just seeing the shape of it before he even began reading made him both warm and teary, and he smiled sadly. The date at the top was September 7, 1776, and it opened, “My Dear Ben.”

Glancing once more at George curled upon his side, lips slightly parted emitting even, easy breaths, Ben sighed and began to read.

_My Dear Ben,_

_I am on my way out, embarking on quite an adventure and in something of a hurry, but I could not head off without dropping you a little note. I find myself in such a rush, in fact, I will skip all of the nonsense about the weather everyone skims and list the things on my mind._

_\--I was thinking the other night about getting drunk with you and my brother in the buttery and then you and I sneaking up to the attic of South Middle College. It will forever rank as one of my fondest memories. Thank you._

_\--And as I remember these boyish times, I am struck at how quickly we have become men. When did that happen?_

_\--This war against the British is the most important event of our times, and I do not mean just for the Colonists. All men ache for freedom._

  

     A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty,

     Is worth a whole eternity in bondage.

 

_\--And we will win this war. Do you know why, my dear friend? His Excellency. I tell you, there is no man alive to rival General Washington. When he enters a room, all else comes to a halt out of reverence for him. He is the embodiment of gravitas, unseen since the Caesars, and men will follow him as long as there are men. To be in his presence is to dream of service and sacrifice. And liberty. When you realize he is the only man on earth worth bowing to, and he does not believe any man should bow to another, you will dedicate your life to him. I hope someday you might stand near him and experience the awe of his very being._

_And I see that I have rambled on longer than I intended. I must pack and be ready to leave in the morning. Wish me luck, Ben, just as I wish you nothing but success._

_Yours, most affectionately,_

_Nathan_

Ben read the letter through several times, often pausing to look up at George. When he reached Nathan’s description…. He had been right in every particular—to be in Washington’s presence was a magical experience made all the more profound when you understood his desire to be no man’s king. But Nathan had never been blessed to see underneath the public Washington. The cold, Stoic reserve hid a man unashamed of tears, who felt so passionately he had to regulate it so as not to be consumed by it. Nathan did not know that His Excellency could love a single man as much as he loved America. Ben had been more blessed than Nathan could have ever dreamed. Not only did he bask in the glory of His Excellency, he was warmed by the even greater fire inside George.

Careful to fold Nathan’s letter without tearing at the creases, Ben slipped the letter away. It was one of his greatest treasures, serving as a memory of his dear friend and containing beautiful words about the man he loved. George. His lover. Ben smiled and set his folder on the table by the chair and crept back into bed.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote in Nathan Hale's letter is from the play Cato by Joseph Addison, which is referenced often on the show as a favorite of Washington's and others, and is also the source of Hale's reportedly famous last words "I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country."
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!


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